


You’re a princess and I’m your lionheart

by Pepperish



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Marauders' Era, Unashamed MWPP trash, really fucking long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperish/pseuds/Pepperish
Summary: Prompt: Bellarke Hogwarts!AU  It was hate at first sight. She was an impressionable eleven-year old girl – filled with the appropriate barely-contained excitement and bubbling joy that comes with being a first year – who had just been told Gryffindors are evil. Ok, maybe she was told they were “self-entitled pricks with a fucking hero-in-shiny-armour complex”, but, as smart as Clarke was, she was not sure she got the proper meaning of it. Of course, Clarke didn’t quite believe it at first – how could a whole house be evil? An esteemed Hogwarts house no less? Her father’s house -, but maybe now she was starting to understand. The realization hit her in the form of Bellamy Blake.(Or Bellamy and Clarke meet in Hogwarts and end up leading the resistance against Lord Wallace together. The hundredth Hogwarts!AU no one asked for)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty self-explanatory. I did not meant for it to turn out as big as it did, but it sort of grew on its own.  
> Things to be aware before you go on and read that (good luck): I thought about the MWPP to write this so that's the general vibe here, only modern. So Modern MWPP Hogwarts!AU. I also messed around a bit with their ages and age gaps and the timeline of certain canonverse moments so don’t try to make sense of it like it would in the actual series. 
> 
> AGES: Bellamy is two years older than Clarke who is three years older than Octavia. Wells is a year older than Clarke and so is Finn. I guess that’s all you need to know and I’m sure you can understand their ages even if you ignore my note, so there’s that.  
> I hope you have fun and send me some comments because, honestly, writers suck vital energy out of them and you don’t want to starve me. I’m rather cranky when I’m starved, honestly.
> 
> Title from Of Monsters and Men “King and Lionheart”, with a tweak.

**(First year)**

 

 It was hate at first sight.

 She was an impressionable eleven-year old girl – filled with the appropriate barely-contained excitement and bubbling joy that comes with being a first year – who had just been told Gryffindors are _evil_. Ok, maybe she was told they were “ _self-entitled pricks with a fucking hero-in-shiny-armour complex”_ , but, as smart as Clarke was, she was not sure she got the proper meaning of it.

 Of course, Clarke didn’t quite believe it at first – how could a whole house be evil? An esteemed Hogwarts house no less? Her _father’s_ house -, but maybe now she was starting to understand.

 The realization hit her in the form of Bellamy Blake.

 Up to that moment, Clarke had no idea who the dark-haired boy was. They must have crossed paths in the corridors, of course. Despite its physical size; Hogwarts was quite the small school and she thought the shaggy black hair was somewhat familiar. Still, he was two years older than her and it’s a known fact that thirteen years old boys want nothing to do with eleven years old kids.

 Bellamy started off well enough, even a bit _too_ well for her liking. He was the beater of Gryffindor’s Quiddich team and a very good one at that. He had a strong arm for a boy that lanky, it was a tad impressive.

 Clarke was an avid fan of the game – one of the many traits she inherited from Jake Griffin - and admired him immediately for it. Ok, so what, maybe she was a tiny teeny bit resentful that he was aiming those powerful bludges at her house team, but Clarke’s a snake, it’s to be expected.

 The actual problem began when, instead of drawing attention because of his great Quidditch skills, Bellamy became the centre of attention for punching the Slytherin’s captain in the face.

 Clarke gasped along with her fellow house dwellers on the stands and her brows furrowed deep. First year Clarke already hated violence and the blow seemed absolutely unprovoked and uncalled for.

 Well, it also proved to be absolutely stupid, because Team Captain – a lean boy with sleek blonde hair and MALFOY written on his back - was _fifteen_ and almost twice as big as Bellamy. He returned the punch and then got hit again and, as things tend to do in this sort of dramatic situations, it became an all-out fight that showed no sign of stopping until they were both falling off their brooms from a much dangerous height.

Clarke could feel her heart pounding strongly against her chest in apprehension.

 She’d never forgive Bellamy Blake if he killed someone in her first Quiddich game at Hogwarts – it’d ruin the sport for her.

 Thankfully, the end of it was a lot less tragic.

 One of the professors – the scariest looking one, Mrs Indra – saved them from early deaths by snatching them midfall with a swift flick of her wand. Her face was twisted into a furious scowl as she escorted the pair out of the pitch and, for some reason, Clarke found herself relishing that. That would teach that Bellamy kid a lesson.

(Or a few. 1) Never to punch other boys – especially boys bigger then him; 2) Never mess with Slytherin; 3) Never scare Clarke Griffin)

 After the game – Gryffindor still won, but Clarke believed it was because Slytherin lost its captain and the Gryffindor chaser, Nathan Miller, was _vicious_ -, she went straight to her dorms, convinced that her father could be the exception.

 Gryffindor was no good.

 

**(Third year)**

 

 The following years did nothing to improve Clarke’s opinion of Bellamy Blake, but a third year herself, she at least understood his reasons a little better.

 The Blakes weren’t a magical family. Well, William Blake _was_ a wizard, but Clarke didn’t believe they were related. No, Bellamy had been the first of his line to have magic.

 Everyone knew times weren’t the easiest for them.

  Some people were prone to making snide remarks and degrading comments, some even bullied the muggleborns and Bellamy was having none of that. At fifteen and starting to fill out, Bellamy had been in more fights than the rest of the school body combined. He was always sporting some bruises to match his less-than-sunny disposition.

 Not that he was disliked – quite the opposite, in fact. With the exception of those who looked down on him because of his origins and Slytherins (which were _not_ the same thing), the boy was practically adored.

 The girls, specially, seemed to fancy him something quite flattering. The good looks helped.

 He was, indeed, one of the tallest boys of his years and his shoulders already showed signs they were going to be broad, but it was the smirk that perpetually played on his lips that did the trick.

 In any circumstances, Clarke was yet to be swayed.

 He wasn’t particularly fond of her either. As a matter of fact, Bellamy seemed to positively despise her, as much as she did him.

  It was fact that it started in the stupidest way possible.

 Which means, of course, that it started with a fight.

 The first minister’s son, a sixteen year old named Derek Fawley, was openly one of the most prejudiced people in school, in addition to the most unpleasant, and he just _loved_ to bad-mouth Bellamy. Not that he was brave enough to do it in the other boy’s presence, though, no, Derek was all sneers and muffled scorns to his imbecile mates.

 It came as quite a surprise, then, that one day he worked out enough nerve to actually challenge Bellamy to his face. The younger boy was taller and obviously more athletic and stood there with a raised eyebrow as Derek jabbed at him:

“I’m so disgusted Jaha allows this sort of _trash_ to come to Hogwarts.” Derek’s words were so loud, they reached Clarke from the other end of the corridor. Her head snapped immediately to the sound of the horrid comment, already recognizing the voice. Blood ran hot in her veins. “Why don’t you all just crawl back to the hole you came from?”

 Clarke squeezed her way through the people beginning to crowd the hallway until she was right in the ridge of the circle around them. Just in the nick of time to see fire igniting in Bellamy’s eyes.

“You should shut the hell up before I shut it for you.” Unlike many teenage boys, his voice had a low quality to it that made him sound a couple years older. Especially when he was trying to come off as intimidating.

“Are you threatening the first minister’s son? Don’t you know my father is coming to Hogwarts – maybe to finally get rid of the likes of you?”

 Well, Clarke thought, at least that takes care of the new-found boldness.

 Derek had such a smug expression that Clarke found it hard to blame Bellamy when he landed the first punch.

 That was one of the many trivial facts Clarke knew about Bellamy: he hardly went magical in fights. No matter how good he was rumoured to be with a wand, he always used his hands.

 Derek apparently hadn’t really believed Bellamy would dare and was certainly not expecting the blow. It hit him squarely in the nose and there was a nauseating _crack_ that made Clarke _wince_.

 The boy fell to the ground, obviously not one experienced in fist fights. People around them laughed and cheered and Clarke half-expected Bellamy to bask in the attention – it was quite his style -, but instead he seemed too busy trying to restrain himself.

 It wasn’t something fourth-year Bellamy would do, until last year he’d have turned around and instigated his audience, but the furious grimace still in place left no place for bragging.

 As Derek stayed pathetically splayed on the floor, he turned around and stalked away from him, body rigid.

 Which, to be fair, was why he was unaware that the other boy sat up and reached for his wand.

“Bellamy, watch out!” Griffindor chaser Nathan Miller shouted.

 Oh fuck, this is going to get ugly fast, Clarke squirmed.

 The warning bought Bellamy time to duck just as the hex went over his head. He wasn’t trying to reign himself in anymore.

 The sound of fists and curses filled the air and people watched, took sides and cheered on.

“What is wrong with you people?” She screamed at them fruitlessly. “Do something!” She demanded of Miller.

“Are you mad, Griffin? Do you want me to get in _his_ way?” The boy pointed at the murderous look in Bellamy’s eyes and his furious hits.

“Cowards,” she muttered under her breath.

 Clarke aimed a spell, trying to separate the two just as Wells Jaha fought his way inside the circle to help her, getting a rebound hex that cut his arm in the process.

“Stop it, both of you!” Wells was the headmaster’s son and a well-liked kid all around. Like most hufflepuffs, and he was most certainly not cut out for fights. Still, he was a big boy and he just genuinely _cared_ for everyone, so he stepped in. Well, that and he was Clarke's best mate.

 It was hard work, though, because Derek and Bellamy didn’t look about to step down even with her spell pulling them in opposite directions and Wells trying to get them to stop.

 Derek was hurling all kinds of insults at Bellamy, swearing he was going to regret messing with him and Clarke couldn’t help but notice she’d never seen the boy’s hair so dishevelled.

 She had to do something.

“Shut up, Derek, haven’t your face received enough?” Her voice cut loud and clear above their shouts. All three boys stopped and looked at her in a varied spectrum of reactions, from anger – Bellamy, of course, to confusion, and finally, relief and concern in Well’s dark eyes. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat.” She was not afraid of him, or his father, and he was not about to insult a Griffin. “And you, Bellamy, _stop_ letting him get a rise out of you.”

 She probably shouldn’t have said that.

 Because it only made his anger turn to her.

“And what do _you_ know, princess?” He spat the last word as if it was the most offensive thing he could think of calling someone. “You’re one of _them_.” He motioned to Derek in disgust. “Don’t go all hypocrite on me.”

 Indignation rose through her and she glared at him.

“What?!” Clarke saw Wells tighten his hold on Bellamy’s shirt. “What are you talking about? We’re trying to help!”

“I don’t need no _help_ from you.”

 Their glares met and it was like two fire pits from hell colliding.

“Stay out of it, Clarke. His kind is primitive, he can’t understand civility.” Derek said. She turned to him, twice as mad.

“Someone get him the hell out of here before I actually start rooting for Blake to beat him bloody senseless.”

 Derek’s mates finally stepped up and came to haul him away from Bellamy. Clarke’s shoulder sagged in relief.

“Well done, your highness.” The irony in Bellamy’s voice reminded her that it was way too soon to relax. He tugged his shirt free from Well’s grip with a dark scowl. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

“Merlin, you’re such an arse.” She snapped. Wells frowned at her and shook his head, coaxing her to let it go.

“Clarke, it’s not worth it.” The tallerboy said and came to stand by her side, obviously urging her to back off, but also providing back up if needed be. Wells was not exactly sure how much help he’d be against a wild boy like Bellamy, but he’d be damned if he’d let him have a go at Clarke.

 Her insanely blue eyes never flickered to him, though, they just sent a piercing stare at Bellamy’s.

“You just happen to be a muggleborn one.” Clarke finally says and turns around, grabbing Wells by the hand and walking away.

 

**(Fourth year)**

 

 The next year would change the dynamic between them ever so slightly.

 After the hallway scene, Clarke found herself having a relationship with Bellamy and not a good one. Both of them ended up in detention together and it was an hour a week of pure hell and thinly veiled hatred.

 After, antagonizing each other became their thing.

 It didn’t even seemed to matter that he was two years older than her and supposed to be mature.  It didn’t matter she was a girl who usually disliked conflict.

 Something would lead to another something and, somehow, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin would end up screaming in each other’s faces.

 It became some sort of school’s attraction.

 But then, just when Clarke thought there was nothing else to know about the jerk (except he was, as stated, a _jerk_ ), fourth year came around with a new side of him.

 A tiny wild-spirited new side called Octavia Blake.

 His younger sister, turned out to be a witch and if they thought Bellamy was bad before, now he was positively a _nightmare_.

 Because even though they were safely tucked away in their magic castle, those were still dark times. Whispers were all-around of a dark wizard gathering followers and spreading blood purity supremacy speeches. People showing up with signs of unforgivable curses. Hate crimes the Ministry tried at all costs to disguise.

 Bigots and racists were growing gutsier about it and conflicts were inevitable, but all hell would rise to earth before Bellamy let anyone say or do anything he deemed inappropriate to his baby sister.

 Despite hating the bloke’s guts, Clarke respected that. Fierce loyalty was something she valued as well.

 

 Octavia was a sweet kid, bubbly and happy most of the time, although she could be a little spitfire if anyone said something she didn’t like. She was sorted into Gryffindor as soon as the hat brush her hair – _just like my big brother_ , she said proudly with a huge grin splitting her rounded cheeks – and in no time she was ruling them all.

 But even with Bellamy as a looming threat, not even Octavia could get around bullies completely unbothered.

 That’s how Clarke found her one afternoon.

“You’re so dead.” Octavia sounded angry, but not at all scared when Clarke made a left and saw her. “It’s pathetic.”

“You’re the one who’s pathetic” The boy seemed older than her, but Clarke didn’t know him. A second year, then. Third at most. “with all this dirty blood you have. I have friends too, your brother can’t do nothing.”

“Your ridiculous friends can’t stop Bellamy.” She defended. “Or me. My blood is as clean as they come, you pig.”

“You little bitch—” He made a move for his wand and Clarke figured it was time to step in.

“Hey” Both turned to her and the boy looked suddenly uncomfortable. “What do you think you’re doing? Put the wand away.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” The boy said, but his voice lacked its previous confidence. “And you hate Bellamy, you should be happy.”

“I’ll never be happy with any kind of bullying and _especially_ not with this prejudiced crap. Now put the wand down, I’m not warning you again.” Clarke was only a couple years older, maybe, but her eyes were commanding and her demeanour was always so sure she could easily have passed for a fifth year. Everyone knew she wasn’t, but it made no difference. The boy slowly lowered his wand and mumbled something under his breath. “If I catch you doing this again, I’ll personally bring you to Bellamy and, trust me, no amount of friends will do you any good if he puts his hands on you.”

 The boy gulped and ran away with a grimace.

“I didn’t need your help.” Octavia said, gruffly, and Clarke almost burst out laughing because she sounded so much like her brother. Instead, she smiled and looked at her approvingly.

“I realized, but I felt that if I could give you a hand, then why shouldn’t I? Girls have to stick together, you know. Boys are pigs.” That made Octavia snort a little with amusement.

“I told him just that.”

“You were completely right.” Octavia beamed at her than and Clarke extended a hand. “Have you ever seen the kitchens? I bet you didn’t, you just got here.”

“We can go to the kitchens?” The little girl’s bright green eyes sparkled.

“Well, technically not, but I can sneak us in.” Clarke said conspiringly and Octavia’s smile turned mischievous. She latched at her hand eagerly.

“Take me, then. I want ice cream!”

“Octavia.” Bellamy’s voice reached them and Clarke’s head snapped up in his direction. When had he got there? She had no clue.

“Bellamy!” The little girl squeaked happily. “I was just about to go to the kitchens! This is --- I don’t know your name yet.” Her eyebrows furrowed and Clarke laughed.

“I’m Clarke.”

“I’m Octavia Blake.” She said, nodding solemnly, then turned to her brother. “This is Clarke, she’s my new best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend!” Bellamy said in mock offense, with a lightness Clarke hasn’t seen yet in him. She fought to keep a straight face, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips.

“You can both be my best friends.” Octavia declared solemnly. “Although she’s the one that’s going to get me ice cream.”

“Oh, the betrayal.” Bellamy said and shook his head disapprovingly. Then his eyes met Clarke’s and he sobered, losing the playfulness. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” She answered. Their eyes remained locked and Clarke allowed herself to smile softly.

 That was certainly a first.

“Ice cream!” Octavia demanded, quickly losing patience with their silence. Both of them shifted their attention back to her and smiled fondly. “Both of you.”

 They could take a break from being at each other’s necks to please the little girl. They spent the rest of the way down to the kitchen drawing laughs and squeals out of Octavia and, for the first time, Clarke thought maybe Bellamy wasn’t one hundred percent idiot.

 Just probably ninety-eight percent.

 

 

**(Fifth year)**

 

 Clarke’s fifth year came with a shiny badge that positioned her as prefect.

 She was obviously elated – Clarke worked really hard for it, she was top of her classes, all her professors seemed to think she had great potential – even more so because her parents were really proud and nothing made her happier than making her father happy.

 The joy didn’t survive the train ride, though.

 Clarke was already at the prefect’s compartment when Head Boy and Head Girl came in. The Head Girl was the girl she fancied since the year before and there were no surprises there. Lexa Woods was the obvious choice, all sharp wit and determination.

 She also had amazing chestnut hair always pulled in an intricate half-updo and the most intimidating eyes Clarke has ever seen.

 Lexa looked like a war goddess and Clarke was halfway in love with her, so it’s safe to say she was very pleased that they were going to work together. The only shadow in her lawn was the Head Boy.

 She wasn’t the only one looking shocked that I-haven’t-even-been-prefect Bellamy Blake strode into the tiny compartment as if he was the king of the world, polished badge perked over his chest and the world’s smuggest smirk twitching his lips.

 

_What the actual fuck?_

 

 Clarke didn’t realize she actually said that _aloud_ until all eyes snapped at her, including Bellamy’s. His expression shined with amusement – a very, very bad kind of amusement.

“Hullo to you too, Princess.”

 She was too dumbfounded to reply, but her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.

“Let’s start this already, we’ve got serious business to talk about.” Lexa started in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn’t sit down and, following suit, Bellamy didn’t either. “I know my partner’s choice was an… unconventional one, due to his inexperience with prefect duties, but he’s the Headmaster’s choice. We all will do our work with excellence, I’ll tolerate nothing less. Any questions?”

 Of course, no one had any.

“Great. My name is Lexa Woods and I’m your Head Girl this year.” The way she said her title made her sound as if stating she was their war commander instead. It was hot, if a bit terrifying. “Introduce yourselves.” Her eyes turned to Bellamy.

“As most of you know, I’m Bellamy Blake.” He said easily, with a warm, yet authoritative voice. It stirred something in Clarke’s stomach that she was pretty sure was anger. Bellamy had the uncanny ability of making her mad simply by existing. “I get that you’re all surprised, trust me, so was I, but as Lexa said” he said the girl’s name with a familiarity that made Lexa’s brow twitch ever so slightly. Clarke swallowed a chuckle. “I promise I won’t let any of you down. This may have been a surprise, but I’m what you have and I’ll do my best.”

 “That means you’ll stop picking random fights every couple of days?” Clarke asked, with a mock sweet smile. Bellamy snickered at that, the seriousness in his face being replaced by mirth.

“I’ll be the bastion of order, I promise _you_.”

 Clarke rolled her eyes at his antics.

 They were all _doomed_ , that’s what.

 The expectant silence made her notice everyone was waiting for her to speak since apparently she was next in line.

“My name is Clarke Griffin.” She didn’t get up. There weren’t that many people that she was hidden from view in her spot. “I’m the Slytherin fifth year prefect.”

“And the school’s resident princess.” Bellamy added, still smirking.

“And I must say I’m very disappointed the school’s resident arsehole is now our Head Boy. I wish us all the best of luck.” Bellamy glared at her with the same intensity she was glaring at him and for a few seconds there was an awkward silence hovering above them all.

 The boy sitting beside her cleared his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt your staring match,” he smiled easily, “but I’d like to go back to my mates, so I’m just going to get this going again, if that’s ok. I’m Finn Collins and I’m Hufflepuff’s sixth year prefect.” Clarke managed to break eye contact with Bellamy to look at the boy. He was good-looking. Pretty, even, in a soft way, with chocolate brown hair brushing his chin and a friendly face. She gave him a small, apologetic smile. When someone else began introducing themselves, Finn leaned close to her and whispered, “don’t worry, I want to hex him every time he opens his mouth too,” and Clarke had to stifle a giggle.

 Wells, she knew, declined being a prefect because he thought it would sound too close to nepotism – him being the headmaster’s son and all -, but Clarke wish he didn’t. She missed him there with her, it felt wrong.

 Finn was great, though. He kept making witty remarks just for Clarke to hear until she was on the verge of laughing out loud. Even if his presence wasn’t as reassuring as best mate’s would have been, she decided she liked him.

 She stole a quick glance at Bellamy; despite Finn’s niceness, _that_ particular detail about her year would be so much easier if Wells was around.

 

 When they were all finished with introductions, Lexa addressed them again:

“Your task today is to make sure the other students go straight to the boats. No wandering around is allowed.” She said firmly, “We’ll meet again, later this week, to discuss the first matters of the year, such as patrolling and the first Hogsmead weekend. Be aware of the time and day, I won’t tolerate any tardiness.”

 She didn’t wait for anyone before turning and leaving the compartment.

 Bellamy took a little longer saying goodbye and Clarke glared at him again. He winked at her, loving just how easy it was to rile her up.

 That boy was going to be the death of her.

 

-

 

“I’ll take any other day.” Clarke all but pleaded.

“You have no other free days,” Lexa said in what Clarke assumed was her patient voice. “This is duty, Clarke. You do what you have to do.”

 Clarke set her mouth in a tight, grim line and sulked, but didn’t protest further.

“ _Any_ other day.” Bellamy, on the other hand, wasn’t as convinced, and insisted.

“Would you rather lose your Quiddich practice, _captain_?” Lexa asked, in a much harder voice. “I could arrange that.”

 Bellamy huffed, annoyed, and looked even sourer than usual. Arms crossed over his chest, he was a perfect, matching copy of Clarke’s disgruntled stance. Lexa looked between the two of them with undisguised exasperation and decided her time would be better spent talking to the rest of the prefects.

 It was common occurrence by now, barely a month and a half into the term. It was startling how quickly everyone got used to witnessing Bellamy’s and Clarke’s explosive arguments.

 Lexa was probably the only thing keeping them from trying a hand at outright murder.

 It must be their karma, then, that the only free days in their schedules matched. Logistically, there was no choice but to assign them to the same patrol shift. It attended all the rules – an older student with a younger one, _not_ couples – except for the fact they seemed unable to stand each other’s presence.

 Nothing they said was enough to change their situations, though. Lexa was all about logical choices.

 They were pretty much damned.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with _you_.” She grumbled moodily when Bellamy finally called the meeting quits, about an hour later.

“I’m not so thrilled myself either.” He retorts. “Wouldn’t you be that much happier patrolling with Spacewalker? I feel for you, really.”

 _Spacewalker_ was what basically everyone called Finn. Apparently, there was a story involving him, firewhiskey, a broom and a full-moon night, but she was not sure what laced it all together.

 Him and Clarke had been talking and getting closer and, apparently, Bellamy Blake noticed.

 Something lurched inside of Clarke’s stomach and she scowled.

“I would be that much happier patrolling with literally anyone else.”

“You keep telling yourself that, princess.”

 The days between the meeting and their first patrol together passed way too quickly for Clarke’s liking.

 She used this time to curse Bellamy – both inward and outwardly - and rehearse potential arguments inside her head, which she won like half the time, at best. In all honesty, Clarke wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it meant about her mental health that she didn’t outsmart him even inside her mind.

 So when the first patrol night loomed over, she hang with Octavia.

 Clarke was weirdly fond of Bellamy’s little sister. She had some liveliness about her that made her excellent company, despite the age gap, and she was way savvier than your average twelve year old.

 Clarke supposed the street smart came with being a Blake.

 Besides, being with Octavia helped a little. Every time the girl talked about her home life, Clarke felt some of her disdain towards Bellamy ease ever so slightly.

 He could be an arse to the rest of the world, but no one could say he was an incredible brother.

 The Bellamy in Octavia’s tales sounded completely different than the one Clarke’s known – soft, loving, selfless. Definitely _not_ the same self-serving jackass that roamed the castle’s corridors.

“Bell usually works two jobs at summers.” Octavia says matter-of-factly. “He used to help pay for my school when we didn’t know whether or not I’d receive a letter. And he saves some money to take me to the movies on Saturdays.”

“It sounds nice.” Clarke smiles. “What are movies?”

“You’re never watched one?” The girl asks, horrified. Clarke shakes her head negatively and Octavia’s eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh my God, you _have_ to ask Bellamy to take you. It’s the best!”

 She laughs, but it’s mostly at the idea of Bellamy taking her anywhere. But Clarke’s curious about these movies after that. Moving pictures weren’t anything new, but none of hers told stories.

 The next night, when the clock strikes nine o’clock and it’s time for patrol, Clarke and Bellamy walked side by side with a heavy silence between them.

 Clarke’s not even sure they managed to say “hi”.

 The quiet is equal parts hostile and awkward, and she couldn‘t help sort of hoping they’d bust lots of people in compromising positions just so she has something to concentrate on.

 But thirty minutes pass and the only students they busted were a couple of first-years who got lost when the stairs moved midair. Clarke’s just about had enough.

She nods to herself, stern. If they’re going to do this weekly, there _has_ better way.

  _Aut viam, aut faciam, Griffin._

“So…” She starts and her voice sounds too loud when it disturbs the stillness around them. The only sound is their falling footsteps echoing off the stonewalls. “Octavia mentioned you guys go to mo-vees.” Clarke says tentatively.

 He eyes her suspiciously, but remains with his mouth firmly shut, waiting to see where she’s heading to.

 “That’s sweet of you.”

“It’s nothing, she’s my sister.” Bellamy shrugs like it should be obvious.

“Still, not everyone makes time for family.” If her tone betrays her slight bitterness, he doesn’t show.

 Both Clarke’s parents are prominent figures who love her very dearly, but have always had little time for her. If there’s one thing she admires about Bellamy – and no one can say there are _many_ , really – it’s how he takes care of Octavia.

 It doesn’t spark a conversation, though. The pause is long and lingering, and Clarke thinks this is it; it was worth the shot. Bellamy doesn’t want to talk to her – not even about Octavia. But then he says:

“I like doing it,” Bellamy looks half displeased with himself for taking her bait and half relieved that the oppressing silence’s gone. “O is a great kid and life at home – isn’t the easiest.”

“It’s good to know something brings out the best in you.” His eyes snaps at her, surprised. Then the corner of his lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile, but the first one ever directed exclusively to her.

“Nah, I’m a hundred percent arse.”

 

 

 Hanging out with Octavia became a thing for Clarke since their first meeting.

 It doesn’t freak Clarke out that she likes spending her free time with the girl, but the fact that, as a consequence, she sees a whole lot more of Bellamy does.

 They still fight like cats and dogs, of course, it’s the way they communicate, but the hostility between them has been fading lately.

 Clarke realizes she should probably be glad -- it was kind of exhausting battling him all the time -- and Bellamy can be sort of funny sometimes, but it’s still essentially weird.

 She mentions it to Wells one day when they’re sitting at the school gardens, basking in the shadow of a huge elm.

“Does that mean you secretly like him and is trying to subtly get my opinion on it? Because it’s not subtle at all.”

“Don’t be a jerk.” She swats his hand when he tweaks her side. “No, I’m definitely not secretly in love with Bellamy, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Openly in love then?”

“Not in love at all.” She deadpans and Wells just grins.

“We’ll see about that.” He all but chirps and Clarke considers if maybe he’s actually jealous or if he just knows there’s no way in hell she’s falling for damn Bellamy Blake simply wants to make fun of her.

 Bellamy, for his part, is on the Quidditch pitch. Wells and Clarke have only partial view of it, but they can hear him quite clearly, screaming one thing or another relentlessly at his players. It doesn’t surprise Clarke at all, Bellamy’s always yelling at someone for some reason. “So, in the hypothetical scenario you’re not in the hots for Blake, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. We hate each other but sometimes hang out together because of his little sister. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and yeah, she’s pretty sure he’s just making fun of her. “You don’t really hate each other. Maybe at first? No, I don’t think you ever did, to be honest. You just didn’t know each other and were at opposite ends of stupid fights all the time.” Wells nods to himself, “I do know for sure you enjoyed all that arguing too.”

“What the hell?”

“C’mon, Clarke, you can’t deny you get off from fighting.” He’s laughing in earnest now and she feels a flush creeping up her neck despite her best efforts. “It’s your kink!”

“You’re really lame. I hope you’re aware of your own lameness.”

“I am.” Wells just agrees, easily. “But you know, for the record, if you _are_ trying to subtly get my opinion, I don’t think Blake’s half bad. He’s a right prat most of the time, sure, but I think he just has a dick persona. He seems like a good bloke. So, if that’s what you’re into…”

“Grumpy pricks who have a heart of gold?” She asks in a sarcastic tone. “Yeah, I’ll pass. Not my thing.”

 They stay in companionable silence for a while until Wells just has to ruin it with:  
“You know,” his dark eyes find hers and he’s all amused smiles. “I never said he had a heart of gold.”

 She punches his arm for good measure.

 

 

 Bellamy Blake, Clarke decided, had the habit of being at the worst possible places at the worst possible times, always.

 Ever since they began patrolling together and hanging out with Octavia in the kitchens, things between them have been – friendly. Clarke even hang out with him and his best mate, Miller, at the library once.

 When they argued and shouted at each other now, it had more to do with the thrill of the challenge – and also with the fact they still disagreed so much. Still, they weren’t _mates_ and Clarke was still hyperaware of his presence whenever he was in the room, as if she was being watched, as if she should step up her game.

 It was a strenuous middle ground.

 In that particular moment, though, Clarke believed there were very few things that could turn this nightmare of a night worse than Bellamy Blake crashing into it.

“What’s going on here?” The girl asked.

 Raven Reyes was a new student – something very, very odd in fifth year. She was the gorgeous transfer student from Ilvermony no one knew much about.

 Except for Clarke, who now knew she was Finn’s girlfriend.

 Finn’s tanned, stunning, badass-looking girlfriend and Clarke felt like throwing up everything that’s been in her stomach since lunchtime the day before.

 When no one seemed inclined to answer her previous question, she turned to Finn, “what’s wrong with your face?” Raven’s dazzling smile was getting smaller by the second and there was a confused crease between her arched brows.

 Finn looked unsure and nauseous; he had his arm looped around Raven’s waist, but kept looking back and forth between her and a very frozen Clarke.

 Because Clarke? She thought they were starting something.

To be greeted with the terrific news he had a girlfriend was jarring, to say the least.

“It’s nothing.” He finally managed to choke out, adding a smile for effect. Raven’s dark eyes pierced through Clarke, soul-searching and suspicious, but she extended a hand.

 She didn’t drop her embrace on Finn, though. Clarke couldn’t even say she didn’t have reason to stake her claim.

 (Clarke was going to bloody _throw up_ , for Merlin’s sake)

“Hello there. Raven Reyes.”

 Clarke stared at her offered hand for a beat too long before forcing a bright smile to her face and taking it in a friendly shake.

“Nice to meet you Raven, welcome to Hogwarts. I’m Clarke Griffin.”

 Raven was a fifth year like her and, funnily enough, she had been sorted into Ravenclaw the minute the sorting hat touched her dark haired head.

“Thanks.” Raven still seemed to be assessing her and Clarke felt suddenly exposed. “So, are you guys friends?”

 Clarke looked at Finn, who was still gaping at her and seemingly incapable of coherent speech.  Or just maybe on the verge of saying something decidedly stupid.

 Anyway, it was up to Clarke.

“Something like that,” She said smoothly, “we’re both prefects, actually.”

“Oh.” Raven’s smile grew a bit surer, even if her clever eyes were still taking notice of everything. “And you spend a lot of time together?”

 Clarke forced herself to be as friendly and unaffected as a witch could be.

 That’s how Bellamy found her, a scarce few minutes later: trapped in a conversation with Finn and his girlfriend.

 Despite her practically perfect composure, it’s obvious what’s going on. She can his brows crease and his eyes harden as soon as he connects the dots.

 (Clarke could see the engines whirring: Finn and Raven’s bodies tangled, Clarke’s slightly stiff smile, the way her fingers kept finding the one stray lock she always fiddled with when uncomfortable)

 Waves of dread rushes through her.

 (Clarke’s _definitely_ going to throw up now)

 Of all people, Bellamy has been the first to notice her interest in Finn.

 Also the first one to tease her about it.

 It was just her karma that now he would be the one to see Finn with his brill girlfriend, bright and clear, to witness Clarke’s utter humiliation.

 He would never let her live to see the end of it.

 Clarke steels herself, preparing for the worst-case scenario as he approaches them.

 But when Bellamy reaches them, he stops much closer to her than usual. So close, in fact, that he could just place his hands at her lower back and they’d just as tangled as the couple in front of them.

 And then he actually _smiled_.

 It takes Clarke’s mind a moment to process what’s happening.

 Then it hits her, just how familiar they must look from the other side.

“Hey, princess,” his voice’s low and smooth.

 Raven’s eyes scans him briefly, but with interest, and seems satisfied with her conclusions.

“Bellamy!” Clarke can’t quite squash the slight inflection of surprise in her voice.

 She can see his smile isn’t genuine from a mile away. The way it doesn’t go anywhere near his eyes. Instead, it looks wolfish.

 Predatory.

 She doubts anyone else could see it, though.

 His warm breath brushes her temple and Clarke feels oddly comforted.

“I was with Octavia just now. She was ranting about that lunch we were talking about in the next Hogsmead visit, so she sent me to fetch you. O wants to smother _you_ with her wonderful plans, she’s a bit bored with me.” He says to her, then to Finn and Raven: “My sister plans lunch the same way a general would a battle.”

 He sounds easy and affectionate, as if this – this mad situation Clarke suddenly found herself in – is common occurrence.

 She never knew the bloke to be quite this great an actor.

“Why am I not surprised?” She smiles with fond exasperation.

“Probably because you’re already used to her.” Bellamy says, cheeky, and finally truly acknowledges Raven, “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think we met before. I’m Bellamy Blake.”

“Raven Reyes, transfer student.” Raven said. Her smile, now unguarded, looks like it could light up the entire castle.

“I heard we had a new one coming in. You caused quite a commotion; we’re not used to having many transfers. You’re from Salem, right?” She nods and Bellamy gives a charming grin, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend here.”

 When he looks at Finn, though, his eyes promise bloodbath.

“Yeah, we’ve been together for years, but you know how British families are, they thought Ilvermony was _subpar_.” She rolled her eyes and then laughed at herself. “I was tired of only seeing him on holidays, so I figured it was time I did something, right? And now here I am.”

“I had _no idea_ she was coming –” Finn starts, something aching to desperation under his voice.

“Of course not, don’t you know what surprise means?”

 The worst part, Clarke thinks, anger threatening to overwhelm her, was that Raven Reyes looks like an all-around awesome person. And she, on the other hand, was _the other woman_.

 Without giving much thought to her actions, she snakes her arm around Bellamy’s and smiles.

“Sorry, but we should go. O might come and murder us both if we leave her waiting for long.” Bellamy doesn’t even blink before placing a hand over her waist. He simply guides her away from them.

 They were a few steps from turning the next hallway when Raven called:

“Hey, Clarke, wait!” Both of them turns, Raven’s jogging to catch up with them.

“Sorry I was being such a bitch before.” She says, slightly ashamed, but with a truthful face. “I was just – I was just being an asshole, and you look like a nice girl. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Clarke lets out a long breath and, this time, her smile for Raven is genuine. “We’re good.”

“And we’re out.” Bellamy says.

 The moment they’re out of sight, Clarke heaves a deep relieved sigh. She can barely believe she got out of there unscathed.

 Bellamy and her walk aimlessly for a while and finally come to a stop by the stairs.

“Are you ok?” His eyes are earnest. It makes something inside her squirm; he was truly concerned.

“Yeah, I was just…” She trails off, searching for the right word. “Caught off guard, I guess.”

“Fucking spacewalker.” Bellamy grumbles. The two words muttered threateningly. “I knew he was a tosser, but this takes the cake.”

“Thanks for backing me up there.”

 He shrugs like it’s nothing.

(Clarke’s starting to see a pattern here)

 “Can I ask you why you did it?”

“It felt like the right thing.” Bellamy crosses his arms, looking tense. “Not for Spacewalker, of course. His bird could kick his ass into next week for all I care, but you had nothing to do with it.”

“I kind of had. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” She mocks, less bitter than she expected.

 His eyes snap to her face, surprised.

 Then they break out cackling at the absurdity of this whole series of events. It makes Clarke feel lighter than she’d been since Raven Reyes was shoved in her face.

 Maybe Bellamy Blake could be at the right place at the right time.

 You know, sometimes.

 

 

“So…” Raven starts, casually. “You were with Finn, after all.”

 Clarke presses her lips into a tight line.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. I still can’t believe the jackass could just go and _do_ that. He’s always been there, the one good thing I had, all my life. Fucking prick.” Raven looks distressed, but more spite than sadness color her voice. “But you didn’t know, so you’re still cool.”

“Don’t you hate me for not telling you?”

“No.” There’s no doubt in her words. “I needed to figure it out on my own.”

 They stand side by side in silence, looking out at the gardens, soaking things in.

“Is it bad that I still don’t want to break up with him?” Raven suddenly asks.

“I don’t know.” Clarke admits, honestly. “I figure that if you don’t want to, then you probably shouldn’t.”

“I just don’t know how to love anyone else.”

“You’ll figure it out. You look like the type.” Clarke says, sharing a small smile, and nudges Raven’s shoulder with her own. The other girl smiles grudgingly.

“Yeah, ok, Griffin. You’re still cool.”

“I’m glad you think that. I like you too.”

 They just look at each other, small smiles, until someone disrupts the moment.

“Hey, Clarke.” Both girls turn to the source of the calling and sure enough, there’s Bellamy, wrapped in his cape and scarf, nose pink from the cold air. “Prefect’s meeting, you coming?”

“Oh damn, I totally forgot.” She hops down the bench she and Raven are sitting at and jogs up to him. “I’ll… See you later?”

“Yeah, you can bet on it.”

“Great.” Then Clarke turn on her heels and follows Bellamy back inside.

“So, you’re on good terms now?” He askes.

“Not exactly, but I think we’re getting there.”

“That’s good.” Bellamy says quietly, then scoffs, “Trust the princess to become mates with her boyfriend’s other girlfriend.”

“I’m awesome.” They share a look that say more than this entire conversation then resume walking in companionable.

 Clarke pointedly ignores Finn’s insisting stare and Bellamy keeps him effectively away from her, either getting in his way or barking others at him.

 She sends him a thankful look and Bellamy pretends not to notice until Lexa arrives, all business as usual.

 From then on, their little truce is over. And so Bellamy and Clarke proceed to tear each other’s ideas off to pieces because, _for the love of Merlin, Bellamy, it’s Halloween, not a Vegas cheap party_ and _do you even know how to loosen up, Princess? Does your royal blood even allow you to do that?_ She says it will be chaos and he wants to know what’s the problem with it.

 They only quit it when Lexa commands both of them to shut up so she can get some actual work done.

 

 

 The first time Clarke kisses Lexa, it’s almost by accident.

 Usually, rounds on Halloween are the responsibility of Heads, given it’s the most dreaded shift of them all. It’s public knowledge that the Hufflepuffs host a yearly party at their common room and everyone from third year up is bound to end up there.

 Bellamy, however, is in the hospital wing. In the match against Ravenclaw he ended up with a bone broken in not one, but _two_ places. Clarke and Octavia scolded him for good thirty minutes, talking over each other in a frenzy about how bloody _careless_ he had been and how worse it could be, until he just rolled his eyes and questioned the heavens why the women in his life were like that, hence they being short of a Head Boy.

 Clarke volunteered to take his place, of course, but it wasn’t until Lexa and her were alone roaming the castle she realized it wasn’t nearly such a bad thing.

“About the situation with Reyes,” Lexa brings up, eventually. Her tone is casual in a calculated way that should ruin the effect but somehow doesn’t, “are you ok?”

 Clarke blushes at her bluntness.                                   

 Obviously, she knows people gossip behind her back. There are some nasty rumors too, Clarke even heard said she and Raven were going to have a duel and ended up deciding to cancel it in order to fool around together, which was a bit of a stretch. Most people, though, didn’t dare saying anything to her face.

(Everyone at Hogwarts knew Clarke had mean hexes and an even meaner right hook, courtesy of one Bellamy Blake)

“As good as it can be. I like Raven, actually, Finn was just sort of a dick.”

“You know what they say. If you have a dick, you’re bound to be one.” Lexa shrugs.

 Clarke chortles.

“I literally never heard anyone say that.” Lexa smiles with thin lips and Clarke muses if it looks vaguely predatory.

“Then you’re hanging out with the wrong people.” Despite the chilly night, Clarke feels a wave of heat creep up her neck. She’s pretty sure that’s Lexa for flirting. “I’ve heard you’ve moved on.”

“Have you, now?”

“Yeah. Don’t you know how people talk about you and Blake?”

“No, I never –” She didn’t. Did she? Was it because of what happened the night she found out about Raven? “I had no idea. But I kind of get it. He helped me out when I first met Raven. We gave some purposely false impression so I’d stop wishing the earth would swallow me whole so terribly.”

 Lexa chuckles, a low, sexy sound that sent a shiver through Clarke’s spine.

“It’s not just that.” Lexa states. One of her hands came to rest on Clarke’s shoulder. “You care about him.”

“I do.” Clarke finds herself agreeing without even realizing. “I don’t know when it started, really. I used to hate his damn guts, but I guess you could say I care about him now. We’re almost mates.”

 Lexa just looks at her, long and firm, pondering.

“Ok, then.” She seems to accept what Clarke said as permission. When Clarke tilts her head in her direction to ask her what ‘ _ok then_ ’ meant, Lexa’s kissing her.

 It doesn’t take long for Clarke to gather her wits and tangle her hands in Lexa’s gorgeous hair, enjoying the feel of her soft lips.

 Who’d guess patrolling on Halloween night could be so good?

 

 

 Prefect meetings turned out to be something Clarke looked forward to.

 No one’s more surprised than herself.

 Bellamy and Lexa didn’t have the best compatibility in the world, but they were managing to keep it under control and work together. Things rarely got to a point when death threats actually happened.

 All things considered, it was good. They were getting things done, even.

 Still, every once in a while, the death threads _did_ show up.

“We need to do something about it.” Bellamy says in a non-bullshit tone that shows he means business. “It’s going to get out of control fast if they don’t think they’re going to be punished. Jaha’s not willing to put his face in the Prophet for condemning Death Eaters openly, but we’ll have to work it out anyway.”

“I agree.” Clarke says without missing a beat. She stands with her back straight between Bellamy and Lexa, whom are both older and taller than her, but it’s not like she’s not used to it by now. “I know that if push comes to shove the Headmaster will take the appropriate measures, but our job is to make sure it doesn’t get that far.”

“The problem is” Lexa starts. “how to do that.”

“Treating it as it deserves to be treated.” Bellamy answers firmly. “Without any leniency.”

“We’re talking big families here.” Lexa doesn’t sound intimidated, just practical, but Bellamy’s eyebrow furrow anyway. “Some of them are not going to stand for that. The Sacred Twenty-Eight still have power.”

“That’s their problem.” He says, unyielding.

“Lexa’s not wrong.” Clarke intercedes, attracting their gazes to her so they stop growling at each other. “That’s why we have to deal with this carefully. Of course we can’t show leniency towards prejudice and name-calling or worse, but we need to act together.”

“I think when we break fights we should handle the same punishment for both sides, but keep tabs with who attack who.” Finn says.

“How is it fair that we’re punishing kids for defending themselves?” Bellamy asks in a rough voice that seems to unnerve most people and swallow them whole.

“It isn’t,” Finn agrees. “but it’ll come across as more austere. Institutional, you know? And I’m talking rows here, not something like five blokes attacking a younger student or anything.”

“It’s something to be considered.” Clarke agrees, despite her obvious reluctance. “It’ll make both sides think twice before getting into a fight and will also show us who we need to keep an eye on. And of course, five dudes attacking a younger student warrant the harsher punishment possible.”

“I don’t get why this is such a big deal.” The Slytherin’s sixth year prefect, Harriet, Clarke thinks, says. “It’s no different than regular fights and whatnot. Unless you’re implying muggleborns can’t defend themselves against purebloods.”

 The contempt in her smirk makes Clarke wants to reach for her wand, but she schools her features in time. Bellamy’s glare is a lot more obvious, so she just nudges his foot with her own.

“No one is implying anything.” Lexa counters.

“Then this settles it,” the girl presses on, “otherwise it sounds a lot like you’re the one discriminating against muggleborns.”

“It is a big deal and maybe you don’t know that because you’re too – _naïve_.” Clarke gives a tight smile that says a lot for what adjectives she’d rather use. “You’re protected and you know that.  Jaha is a great wizard and that’s the only reason we’re in a safe haven. Out there _no one_ is safe.”

 She means it, of course.

 Clarke knows in a war people die, no matter what side they’re on or if they don’t have a side at all. Harriett looks slightly stricken and definitely annoyed to have Clarke patronize her, but Lexa stares her down before she muster up the guts to say anything else.

“It’s true.” Lexa agrees. “We need to be ready. We can’t let what’s happening outside disturb our school.”

 No one says anything against it for the rest of the meeting and they end up with a few good ideas on what measures to take and how to protect the younger students.

 It doesn’t feel like it’s _enough_ , but it’s a good start.

 When the meeting is over, Bellamy comes to stand beside her again while Clarke squashes her belongings in her satchel.

“Seeing a privileged princess trounce another privileged princess in favour of muggleborn’s protection might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.” He teases and Clarke can’t keep herself from smiling. The princess nickname stuck and became their thing, of bloody course, but it lost the sting.

“There goes to show how many grand things you’ve seen.” She says and Bellamy chuckles. “But sure, I’m the best.”

“You’re spending too much time with Raven, her cockiness is bleeding onto you.”

“That’s fine.” She chirps. “Raven’s awesome too.”

 He doesn’t disagree, so he merely shrugs and smirks down at her.

“She’s a far better choice than fucking Spacewalker.” Then, he sees the double meaning of what he said and the tip of his ears turn a bit pink. “I didn’t mean like –” but Clarke’s laughing.

“Don’t worry, I think she’s a better choice than fucking Finn as well.”

“Clarke.” Lexa calls after her from the door where she’s waiting and Clarke smiles up at Bellamy.

“Just remember you don’t have a chance with her, I got there first.”

“Shut up and go with your girlfriend, will you?” He says gruffly, but can’t keep from giving her a lopsided grin for long.

“I will, but only because I know you know I’m right.”

 

 

 Outside, the situation was getting grimmer by the hour.

 Clarke knew that their safety was limited to the inside of the castle’s walls, but even that become more jeopardized every day. The Prophet had a long disappearances section every day and an even longer for those mysteriously murdered. It set everybody on edge – a terrible mood at the beginning of the day while kids looked after familiar names with dread weighting down their hearts.

 The few times Clarke’s dad found time to write her letters he’d paint a worse scenario. Her father wouldn’t make a big deal out of it as to keep her from worrying too much, but Jake Griffin would never lie to her.

 Jake also wanted Clarke to be prepared. War was coming.

 Inside the castle things were volatile at best and chaotic at worst. A whole group of Aurors simply disappeared during a mission and left everyone fidgety but those who were in the know – that meaning people with family in the ministry, like Clarke, and those affiliated with the culprits. The latter sported awful thinly veiled scornful smiles and looser tongues than ever.

 They were a train wreck waiting to happen.

 This time, when trouble presented itself, Clarke was definitely not surprised it had something to do with Bellamy.

 

 She just wished it could be anyone else.

 

 It’s early morning and she Clarke just took her seat at Hufflepuff’s table to eat breakfast.

 She passed Lexa on the way and kissed her cheek good morning, then went to find her usual spot by Wells and his house friends, Monty Green and Jasper Jordan.

 Her eyes found Bellamy at the Gryffindor table mostly by accident. Or some instinct-guided accident, perhaps. Magic works funny ways.

 He was nowhere to be found the day before and neither was Octavia. Clarke was trying to convince herself she wasn’t worried.

 It all went up the wind when noticed the awfully dark circles under his eyes. Bellamy’s hair was an absolute mess and he seemed more concerned about making his sister eat something (she was adamantly refusing to) than doing something for himself.

 Clarke keeps her eyes trained on them quietly, mulling if she should go over or not. Something was clearly not right, but she was kind of afraid Bellamy wouldn’t appreciate her intruding.

Clarke wasn’t sure if they were that kind of friends yet.

 So she slowly munched on her own food, not even attempting to pretend she was paying attention to the conversation around her, until another seventh year Gryffindor, a boy named Dax, hollered from the other end of the table:

“Look, there’s an Aurora Blake at the Prophet’s dead bodies section!” He said almost cheerfully. “Hey, Blake, any relative of yours?”

 Clarke’s adamant she can hear every muscle in Bellamy’s body tensing, winding him up as tight as a violin cord. The old memory comes easily to her – Octavia’s smiling face telling her about their mother, how she sometimes baked wonderful chocolate cakes and that she was named like some Disney Princess, whatever that was, a princess just like Clarke. She remembered it all in a fraction of second and it left her ears ringing. _Aurora, Aurora, Aurora --_

 All the hair in her body stood on end.

“Just shut up already, Dax.” Every head in the Gryffindor table (and every head in every other table as well, to be honest) turns in surprise when, instead of Bellamy’s violent outburst, they get Clarke’s. “Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

“ _What?!_ ” Dax’s looking at her like he could murder her with eyes only. “You can’t do that. It was a joke, Griffin, for fucks sake!”

“It was uncalled for provocation over someone’s death, I believe both Head Boy and Girl and the school body will stand by my decision. Now shut up before I decide to make it fifty.” Her voice is ice-cold and so are her frosting blue eyes. She’s staring the boy down with one single raised eyebrow. “Or worse.” Clarke added in a much lower voice, but was just as sure he heard her loud and clear.

 She gets up, completely unaffected under people’s shocked stares, and strides purposefully to the siblings. Talk and gossip immediately erupted around them and the students aren’t even pretending not to watch with rabid attention.

“Octavia.” Her voice is quiet, but extremely gentle when she sits in front of them. She can see the girl’s eyes are brimming with tears and her jaw’s locked – a perfect miniature of Bellamy’s fierce expression.  Her brother, for his part, is cursing under his breath, hands balled so tight his knuckles turned white. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“She has to eat.” Bellamy says, sounding strained. He’s pressing his teeth so hard together the veins of his neck are standing out.

“We can go eat in the kitchen,” She murmurs, soft, “it’ll be good to go somewhere less… Crowded.”

 They were halfway through the door when a loud voice shouts:

“You’ll regret associating with mudbloods, Griffin.”

 Clarke turns around in a heartbeat, a retort quick in her tongue, her wand firm in her hands, but she doesn’t to react.

“Oh for the love of all fucks –” Raven’s voice catches her attention. The girl’s already standing, a long string of hexes fired in quick succession.

Their eyes meet and Raven winks, mouthing ‘ _go_ ’.

 Clarke just nods once and drags with both Blakes – because _of bloody course_ they want to go back and fight - without looking back.

 (She can still feel Lexa’s steady gaze burning holes through her all the way).

 

 As soon as they’re in the kitchen, Clarke gets a sweet house elf to coax Octavia into eating something and sags against the wall. Bellamy collapses right beside her.

 His hair’s so long it’s brushing past his ears and he’s just pretty, but nothing could hide the broken and raw look in his eyes. Clarke can identify the pieces – his long, full lashes, the sharp curve of his jawline, the freckles dotting his nose – but he looks like an incomplete puzzle.

 Clarke’s not broken just yet, but her chest aches for him all the same.  
“I’m gonna kill them.” It’s a simple statement and Bellamy says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Clarke expected anger to drip from his tone, acid and caustic, but his voice is void of all emotion, except finality. So he repeats: “I’m gonna kill _him.”_

“Who, Dax? He’s rarely worth it. Doesn’t have an ounce of brain in that gigantic head, that one.”

 “No, not that tosser.” Bellamy looks like he’s about too chuckle, but can’t. “Cage.”

“Cage.” She repeats slowly. Lord Wallace, they’re calling him. The maniac that’s trying to start a war. Something tightens in Clarke’s throat. “My dad is trying to do the exact same thing.”

 He sighs and drops his head back. They stay like that for a while, breathing in and out. When he turns to her, regarding her with a weighted gaze, Clarke already knows what he’s going to say.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Bellamy says. She quirks up an eyebrow inquiringly, almost daring him to go on. Of course, he does it anyway. “What you just did there.”

“Bellamy, I’ll do that every time.” She says. “Not just for you and O either. For any muggleborn. They have to know that this kind of behaviour won’t go unchallenged.”

 He grunts unhappily.

“You don’t need to, Clarke. It’s dangerous, you know, some of these kids aren’t playing. They’ll be murderers as soon as they leave Hogwarts.”

“I know. That’s part of the reason.”

 They stare at each other, both stubborn, but this isn’t something Clarke’s willing to concede. Bellamy just huffs and looks back to Octavia.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” Clarke eventually says. He nods once, acknowledging, but doesn’t say anything else.

 They wait around until Octavia finishes – Gerald, the house elf, is a true miracle-maker – and, when she does, she tackles Clarke in a full body hug, tighter than anyone would expect with her skinny arms.

“Thanks for standing up for him.” She murmurs in Clarke’s ear. “He’ll never admit he needs it, but he does. So much.”

 Clarke just hugs her back and says she’s there for whatever Octavia needs.

 They walk in silence to the Gryffindor common room – The Blake siblings have the week off for mourning, but nowhere to return to. The Fat Lady shuts before Clarke when they pass and something in her throbs, because Clarke believes.

 If there’s someone capable of killing Cage, that’s Bellamy.

 

 

 Clarke never really got to that stage where she thought she and Lexa were forever or anything, but it still pretty much sucks when they crash and burn flagrantly.

 It starts after the whole commotion in the Great Hall about the death of Aurora Blake.

 And it’s not like Lexa is openly confronting about it either.

 They like to hang out on the school grounds at dusk. Lexa enjoys having a break from people, it’s early winter and the chill keeps most students inside, and Clarke loves the shades colouring the sky when Scotland gives them all a break from the ever present drizzle.

 This time though, Lexa’s more standoffish than the usual, her eyes keep measuring Clarke up to an unnerving extent, until the girl just gives up any semblance of normalcy and probes:

“What’s bothering you?”

“Bellamy Blake.” Lexa answers and, for a second, Clarke is genuinely confused.

“Bellamy? I thought you two were working out being Heads – I know he can be an arse, but he’s not doing bad—”She rambles on. It takes a few moments for Clarke to notice Lexa’s impassive stare, but that’s when it down on her. Lexa didn’t mean Bellamy as much as _Bellamy and Clarke_. “What about Bellamy?”

“I’m not sure how platonic your relationship is.” Lexa’s pretty stoic about it, so Clarke just schools her features into a matching glacial stare.

 It’s true they’ve been spending more time together lately, but it’s her way of comforting him.

 Bellamy’s a perfect idiot who thinks he’s not allowed to be vulnerable or hurt because he has to be there for Octavia. It’s positively moronic, so Clarke has been checking up on him.

Of all the things Clarke has learned about the boy, his carelessness with himself is the one she likes the least. That goddamn undeserved guilt is probably be the death of him someday.

 They don’t actually do much, just sit somewhere and read together and bicker, or take Octavia to the kitchens, and Clarke finds herself livid her girlfriend thinks she comforting her mate whose _mother has just been murdered_ is anywhere near romantic.

 “As platonic as it gets.” She states, tone biting. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I have a girlfriend.”

“I’m not insinuating you cheated on me,” Lexa clarifies looking almost amused. Clarke hands twitch and she balls her fists tightly, “but you care about him.”

“I _care_ about all my friends.”

 There’s beat before Lexa speaks again and Clarke wonders if this joke of an argument is going to evolve into a full-fledged fight. She really doesn’t want it to, but if that’s an oncoming train, Clarke doesn’t really know how to stop it.

“Yet you worry about him more.” Lexa’s expression gives nothing away under Clarke’s searching gaze. This is outright ridiculous. “We all saw it the other day.” There’s some dry disdaining quality to her voice Clarke hates.

“You mean when some wanker was making fun of his mother _dying_? Merlin! I’d have done that for anybody, it was just plain wrong. You know exactly what my feelings about Death Eaters are.”

“Yes, I do, but you’re risking yourself too much, exposing yourself too much, and that’s because of him. It might become a problem – for us.”

“The simple fact you think I stood up for him because I feel something for him instead of it being who I am is a serious problem.” Clarke deadpans.

“You’re not going to be able to change the world by yourself, Clarke. You have to protect your own in this. Things are getting worse, there’s going to be a war.” Lexa says in a way that makes Clarke’s skin crawl. “You have to decide if your own means Bellamy instead of… Your whole life.”

“You mean purebloods?” Clarke all but spits the last word.

“No.” Her smile is somewhat soft, like she finds Clarke’s indignation endearing. Lexa’s eyes also soften a bit, but it does nothing to soothe Clarke’s temper. “I mean your family and your friends and your House. You can’t save everybody.”

“I can damn well try.”

“You’re not being smart about it.” The way Lexa says it, it’s not an argument or an insult. Clarke scowls anyway. “You were put in Slytherin for a reason, Clarke. I know you can do what it takes, but you have to weigh your choices.”

 Clarke almost chuckles.

“Well, maybe that’s my father’s Gryffindor in me.” She says, milder than she feels. “I’ve already picked my side.”

“I see.”

 They walk back to the castle in a hard silence.

“Lexa.” She calls after the other girl. Green eyes clash with blue ones and something tightens in her throat. “You’re head girl. You know you can’t be neutral about this, we’ve talked about it – and if you really think about it, there’s just one side worth choosing.”

 Lexa nods once and turns to leave without response and Clarke finally let go a sharp breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

 It’s not until they’re about to leave for Christmas break, about a week later, and she finds out Lexa’s leaving to not come back that she feels the anger she bottled up from that conversation re-emerge with a vengeance.

“You’re _leaving!”_ Clarke’s aware she spits the accusation in the middle of the Great Hall with several obviously curious eyes and hearing ears around, but she can’t bring herself to care. “I cannot believe you’re just—”

“Clarke.” Lexa’s tone is grave and warning, but Clarke’s too cross to heed it.

“You’re _Head Girl,_ you have responsibilities! Don’t you care that you’re just _dropping out_?” She manages to lower her voice, but she’s already attracted a fair amount of attention anyway. Clarke can hear whispers erupting and she recognizes Bellamy’s familiar face in her peripheral vision, but her focus remains on Lexa.

“I already told you what I think of this.” Lexa’s voice is low and menacing and her hard eyes dart to the people around them with such force they all turn around, pretending to mind their own business. “I’m protecting my own, Clarke. My family is important, I’m going to draw attention if I do what you expect me to do and I don’t want to be forced to do something I don’t want. I’m going to finish up my studies in France. This is not my war.”

 Clarke just stares disbelievingly at her. She feels betrayed. Lexa’s leaving because she isn’t willing to stand up against genocide and torture and blood-supremacy and Clarke doesn’t think she can stomach it.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice is barely above a whisper and that’s what chips Lexa’s armour, her expression turns earnest.

“I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to put my family first.”

“You don’t even care that people are being _murdered_ just for being born, you don’t—”

“I do care, Clarke. But I’m a Slytherin and I made this choice with my head and not with my heart.”

 They stare at each other for a few more moments and then Lexa nods her head to her mates and they all follow her out, glaring daggers at Clarke all the way.

 Clarke’s frozen, like her feet have taken root on the floor beneath her, while despair and heartbreak rush through her.

 She just stares at the Great Halls closed doors until someone places a hand over her back and she turns to see Well’s familiar concerned eyes. She sets her mouth in a firm line and lets him guide her out of the room swiftly.

 Bellamy catches her eyes on the way out, but she can’t deal with him right now so she just looks the other way.

 

 

 Wells take her to Hufflepuff’s common room and it’s a nice change from Slytherin’s stiff air.

She loves the dungeons, but whereas the basement is still mostly underground, it has nice round windows at the very top of their ceiling that filters sunlight and makes it look golden and warm. It feels soft and Clarke needs it.

 Also, she always loved the dandelions and other funny plants that Professor Sprout, the Head of their House, keeps around.

“That was…” Wells seems to be warring himself to find the appropriate word and it makes Clarke feel somewhat amused as they sit on the couch. “Interesting, I guess. Awful, but interesting.”

“I’m glad you think that.”

“No, I mean it. It sucks that you had to have a fight like that with your girlfriend, but isn’t it good to know that now, before you get more involved?” Yeah, she supposes it is, but it’s still so bad Clarke thinks she might throw up. She runs a hand over her hair, pushing it off her face a bit forcefully. “Also, you looked pretty badass there. Just saying.”

 It brings a smile out of her.

“You’re such a Hufflepuff.”

“How do you think I’ve put up with you for all my life?” Clarke just rolls her eyes and chuckles and Wells puts a placating hand over her arm, his face sobering slightly.

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I should have seen it coming, right? We had a fight last week and it was all there already, you know?” When Wells only nods his understanding, Clarke adds. “And she’s not my girlfriend anymore, I guess.”

“Looks like it.” He agrees easily. “At least now you’re free if you want to pursuit your obvious attraction to Blake.”

“You’re all obsessed with Bellamy, do you know that?” Wells chuckles and she punches him in the arm affectionately. “Barmy, the lot of you.”

“Or maybe it’s you who’s obsessed with him and people just like pointing it out for you since you seem determined to ignore it.”

 She narrows her eyes and very maturely flips him off.

“You’re the worst best mate in the history of best mates.”

“You love me so much it’s ridiculous.” They both laugh and spend the rest of the morning in his cozy common room until it’s time for them to take the Hogwarts Express back home.

 Clarke assures herself there’s nothing to do with what people keep telling her about her supposed feelings, but she avoids Bellamy just in case.

 

 

 The next time she _sees_ Bellamy, as in actually interacts with him, instead of darting to the left whenever he’s around, is probably her most irresponsible moment. She almost wishes Raven could see her.

 For starters, she’s all-out drunk. To make it better, she’s the one who called him, even though she had no way of knowing if it would work.

 She knew Bellamy was staying the break with his sister at Hogwarts, so that’s where she sent her owl (a nice, docile little thing called Charlotte). Her barely legible note just told him to meet her at the Three Broomsticks in an hour.

 Clarke also takes the Knight Bus for the first time in her life. It’s somewhat thrilling.

 He is there when she arrives. Clarke’s stumbling a bit and hugging her thick cape around herself, her vision is a bit blurry, but she’d recognize that mop of inky curls anywhere. He’s sitting at the bar already, his coat probably hung somewhere, and he’s wearing real-life _muggle_ jeans and a black leather jacket.

 That’s all Clarke can really think about when she spots him.

“Bloody hell,” she exclaims, dropping ungraciously in front of him in the booth, “you’re wearing muggle clothes.”

 He frowns a bit and Clarke figures she’s probably slurring a little – she can feel her tongue getting confused at how to pronounce some tricky syllables – and she beams at him, hard, as he eyes her wearily.

“Yeah, it’s almost like I’m muggleborn or something.” Despite the sarcasm and his cautious look, his voice is amused.

“I remember, tosser.” She waves dismissively. “It’s just that you look really fit in muggle clothes.”

 He smirks openly at that and Clarke can see he wants to laugh.

“Exactly how drunk are you now? Just so I’m prepared.”

“Huh, kind of a lot? I’m not sure, I’m not really used to drinking.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do, honestly.” She says, earnestly, not noticing the sarcasm. “I’m usually something of a goody two shoes.”

“I know. I know you, princess.” Bellamy says.

 Clarke smiles again, deciding she likes that. He could say shit like that more often. Why don’t they talk like that more often? She asks him precisely that and this time he does snicker.

“I don’t know. I think we’re both better at arguing than talking like normal people.”

 She nods at that, looking reflexive.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. Wells told me s’thing like that once.” There’s obvious fondness in her voice and she presses her eyes shut for a second.

“Did he?”

“Yeah, he said I got off fighting with you.” She reaches for his butterbeer and giggles a little when she sees his face. “He wasn’t all that wrong.” She sips.

“I don’t think you should drink that. A water would be better.” His voice is rough and an octave lower. Clarke actually giggles.

“Bellamy, it’s _butterbeer_.”

“Sure, but that’s not what you were drinking before, so water is definitely a more sensible choice.”

 He calls the barwoman, a beautiful brunette called Roma and asks for a water. The girl gives them a studying, yet amused, look and Clarke immediately recognizes her expression even in her state of intoxication. She widens her smile and, feeling the slightest bit devious, leans towards Bellamy and trace his hands with clumsy fingers.

“What the hell are you up to, Clarke?” His voice is gentle despite the question, if a bit teasing.

“My fingers are cold?” She asks sheepishly and Bellamy shakes his head and runs his free hand through his curls.

“You’re going to be the death of me, do you know that?”

“That’s the idea, yeah.”

 He doesn’t take his hand back, though, so when the water comes, Clarke just cheerfully thanks the brunette and sips it slowly.

 Bellamy humours her and lets her talk about whatever and they bicker non-stop about muggle gadgets versus magic in terms of entertainment and Bellamy firmly sustains it’s not a fair fight because it’s fucking _magic,_ but if one day she gets to play an xbox, she’s going to see that muggles actually get by pretty damn well.

 He tells her stories about his life and how it was a huge mess when he discovered he had powers and that once he set this wanker Murphy’s trousers on fire without even realizing what happened. Clarke listens to all of it in a perpetual state of awe, her life had been so different. So _neat_ and _prissy_ in comparison.

 At some point she ditches the water glass and order a firewhiskey even though they both know she’s not old enough. Bellamy threatens to tell Roma about it, but ends up asking it for her because he’s fucking seventeen and legal, so Clarke remains happily inebriated the entire time.

 Bellamy still forces her to drink glasses of water every now and again. Clarke accuses him of making her a pissing-machine and he howls a laughter.

 A few hours later he helps her get out of the bar and gives her a ride back to the school grounds in his broom, which turned out to be pretty tricky with a very much drunk person who barely knows the basics of flying.

 “You honestly came all the way here in a _broom_ , Bellamy?”

“What? You expected me to _walk_?”

 She doesn’t have a response to that.

 When he carries her to his bed because Clarke passed out against his back, he’s honestly planning to go crash on Miller’s bed since the rest of his dorm is empty.

 However, the moment Bellamy places her in the mattress she wakes, semi-coherent, and starts sobbing against his shirt.

 There’s a snowball’s chance in hell he’d let go of her _now_. In the end, Bellamy lies in bed with Clarke and lets her cry herself to sleep.

 She keeps repeating ‘he’s dead, he’s dead’ in a broken-hearted voice. She doesn’t say who is, though, so Bellamy simply runs his fingers lightly through her hair until she drifts off again and cuddle her.

 It isn’t until the next morning, when the prophet comes and she’s gone without a word that he finds out she meant Wells.

 

 

 Going back to Hogwarts is hell.

 Clarke hates the pitying glances and everyone tiptoeing around her. She hates even more the people who never even knew Wells very well – even if he was a kind of popular bloke for being impossible to dislike – coming to tell her how sorry they are and how they’re going to miss him. They are, quite honestly, the _worst_.

 So yeah, Clarke can understand why Bellamy bottled things up and kept an angry and closed off facade to keep from being bothered because she’s doing exactly the same.

 What Clarke wasn’t expecting was to have people so determinate to reach past that.

 Octavia calls her out on her rubbish easily. The girl has this weird ability of comforting people without asking or even saying anything at all. Clarke thinks it’s bred from dealing with Bellamy her whole life. It’s _unhuman_.

 With Raven, she can talk. Raven, who doesn’t pity her and only helps her channel her anger against pricks who deserve it. She’s snarky and unrelenting, offering a sympathy so very different than the one Wells would have and it’s kind of perfect. Exactly what she needs.

 She does surprise herself opening up to Thelonius Jaha. There’s no other reason except the fact that Thelonious just _misses_ Wells so much. They get tea together sometimes and Clarke doesn’t go around sobbing on the man’s shoulder, but they talk. Clarke will always value someone with so many memories of her best mate.

 Life becomes very odd that way.

 She doesn’t let Bellamy see her vulnerable side, though. She unloaded too much on him already – Bellamy doesn’t need any added weight on his shoulders.

 And, honestly, Clarke doesn’t know how to deal with him.

 She doesn’t know how to deal with anything in her life at the moment, so she buries herself in work.

 Clarke signs up to extra classes. She takes a specific healing herbology class with Monty and they go through it as if they’re joined at the hip. Neither of them know anyone else there nor feel like making new friends. Clarke also signs up for an advanced runes class she didn’t know Bellamy was taking, but turns out he is.

  And, as a matter of course, she fills the vacant place Lexa left behind as Head Girl.

 It’s not official – it can’t be, really, she’s only a fifth year --, but Jaha doesn’t choose a substitute to put in her place and Clarke steps up to the position.

 No one even thinks of contesting and she throws herself wholeheartedly at the work.

 It doesn’t hurt that she has to be around Bellamy so much, since he’s one of the only people she can manage to be around these days. So they schedule patrol and organize Hogsmead weekends that Clarke never really goes and, most importantly, they handle the ever growing conflicts between muggleborns, so called-blood traitors and purists.

 Clarke might be handling it with an iron fist and Bellamy tells her so without preamble one evening.

“What?” She scoffs. “You don’t think it’s fair?”

“Don’t be stupid, you know I do.” His eyes bore into her and she holds his gaze defiantly. “But it would be in our best interests not to create a rift in the school.”

“It’s not _us_ who are creating a rift, Bellamy.” She defends in a hard voice. “You don’t see me around planning to murder someone.”

“I don’t?”

“Oh, ok.” She rolls her eyes. “Not anyone innocent.”

“I know.” Bellamy says, almost tender, and it’s a bit more than she can handle so she looks away and busies her hands with the papers in front of her, organizing them mindlessly. “You know I’m on your side, right?”

 Clarke heaves a deep sigh.

“I know.”

“And I’m very glad we’re on the same page that those maggots need to be taken down a peg or two while they can so maybe they can start thinking straight before it’s too late.” He puts a hand on her shoulder tentatively and she drops the sheets back on the table, but remains looking firmly ahead. “But we need to do this the right way or we won’t be of any help. You said it yourself, we need to act together.”

“Ok.”

“Together.” He reassures her, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

“Thanks.” Clarke all but mumbles, but Bellamy smiles nonetheless.

“It’s fine.” He looks at his wrist watch – Bellamy never gives up small muggle trinkets - and adds. “You were meeting Raving at the library at six, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s fifteen past.”

“Oh, shit.” She hurries and he just sit back and laughs at her while she fumbles with her things and glares at him at the same time.

“She’s going to murder you.” Bellamy says in what seems to be his sing-song voice, but he still manages to make it sound gruff.

“You’re the worst, you know.” It sends a twinge of pain through her chest, she said that so much to Wells. Clarke pointedly ignores it.

“Or so you tell me.” He shoots back with a grin. She huffs mockingly and leaves him without saying anything else, but there’s a tiny shadow of a smile on her own lips.

 

 

 Raven, though, is truly the one Clarke thinks she wouldn’t be able to do this without.

 Which may have to do with how they express their blossoming friendship by throwing the worst hexes and spells they can remember at each other.

  It’s after curfew and they’re probably breaking a thousand rules, but the nights where she and Raven sneaks out to the Room of Requirement to train are the best things in her week, hands down, so they keep doing it.

“Ok” Raven says through heavy breaths, leaning her hands over her shoulders in an obvious display of exhaustion despite her satisfied grin. “This was good, but I don’t think I can keep going today.”

“Yeah.” Clarke has actually given up any sense of dignity she once had and is sprawled on her back, breathing just as harshly. “I even thought I was close to beating you today. That was new.”

“Sure.” Raven snorts, derisively, and reaches for her water bottle. A plastic water bottle, no less, with a very convenient tip that left Clarke wondering why the hell wizards didn’t enjoy more of muggle’s inventions. She’s definitely asking for one of her own. “But seriously, you gave me a run for my money today. It was really good.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“So I see.”

 It’s become their thing: They practice until they’re dead beat, it’s the single activity keeping Clarke from snapping at everyone all the time. Clarke’s a fan. Bonus points for it having a practical use that can save their lives once they’re out of Hogwarts.

 Raven and her pushed each other’s limits, unlike their DADA professor. Marcus Kane is an exceptionally good wizard, but one who refuses to acknowledge his kids will need to know how to defend themselves in this upcoming war.

 They’re becoming quite skilled, if she’d say so herself.

 Both girls wait for their breaths to quiet down to its normal rhythm in agreeable silence.

 Then, Raven gets up and Clarke watches her pick up her things, stuffing all of it in an old leather rucksack. The girl’s hot and positively intimidating and she’s proving herself to be a great friend – not much for conventional support, but always _there_.

 Affection blooms in Clarke’s insides.

“Have I ever thanked you?”

“You obviously don’t need to thank me.” Raven says, pushing a simple white shirt over her sports bra. “This is very good for me too.”

“Not for practicing with me.” Clarke says with a fond smile. “Although that sports bra of yours always brightens my day.”

“Stop hitting on me, Clarke, Jesus.” Raven smirks at her, making Clarke laugh a bit. With Raven, it was the little things that gave away she wasn’t a pureblood, like her tendency to prefer “Jesus” or “Geez” over “Merlin” or the fact that she managed to put up a motherfucking giant flat screen up and running in her dorm. She had _Netflix_ , Clarke was probably in love with that. “But I mean it, there’s nothing to thank me for. I haven’t done much anyway. I’m just a good punching bag.”

“The _best_ punching bag.” They both laugh and it’s easy. Clarke thought maybe it wouldn’t be, at first, with the whole Finn-was-my-one-and-only-love-for-all-my-life-but-turns-out-he-was-cheating-on-me-with-you situation, but it actually seemed to make things easier. Like, it couldn’t possibly be worse than it was when they met, so they only had up to go.

 They’re mates.

“Will you quit moping around so we can sneak back to our dorms? I wouldn’t like to get in detention, Griffin, I spend enough time with you as it is.”

“Like it’s such a hassle.” Clarke scoffs, but gets up anyway.

“It really is.”

 

 

 The rest of the year is a blur.

 Months fly by like they’re being chased and Bellamy’s graduation keeps getting closer and closer. Not that Clarke thinks about it much, of course, because she really, really doesn’t.

 But it’s still an unavoidable fact.

 They kept working together as Heads, both standing side by side with a straight back, presenting a unified front against any sign of blood discrimination.

 What’s best is that, after the initial natural rebellion against it, people seemed to respect it, or at least begrudgingly accept it, in some cases. Partly because they had each other’s back every time and, between the big menacing guy and the piercing blue eyes and I’m-an-inch-from-beating-you-senseless attitude of the girl, people didn’t know who they found scarier.

Partly because they were so good together.

 It was like they didn’t even need to speak to communicate – which Raven found creepy and their fellow prefects liked to tease them about. All it took was a glance and they’d understand each other’s position and fall into pace together seamlessly.

 That’s obviously not to say they didn’t disagree and fight – because sweet Merlin’s beard, they did -, but the respect and trust between them made any argument die quickly and compromise easier to reach.

 If Clarke was honest, she’d admit she was going to miss it next year.

 But she really isn’t and is totally unrepentant about it.

 Even apart from Head duties life was different.

 Monty and Jasper, the dynamic duo, started hanging out with Clarke and, therefore, Raven most of the time. They’ve been friendly enough before, but not exactly close friends. They were, after all, Well’s mates not hers, but without him they somehow ended up finding each other. The boys were funny and easy, with a quirky kind of sense of humour, and even Raven took a liking to them.

 And then there was Bellamy, who became a fixture in her life.

 Clarke can’t really pinpoint when that happened over the year, but suddenly he was everywhere, his best mate Miller on tail and sometimes Octavia.

 Just like that, they were a group of mates.

 (Except for the fact that Monty obviously blushed anytime Miller even looked his way and Miller actually let him call him _Nate_ , which literally no one else was allowed to, so maybe not everyone was in for strictly friendship).

 It’s the last Hogsmead weekend of the year and they’re all going together.

 The heavy crushing feeling that has settled in Clarke’s chest since Christmas break had dulled to an ache she could live with and, with summer fast approaching, she could finally say she felt like herself again.

 Not really her old self, but someone new. Someone who could learn to rebuild, who could learn to fight back and give as good as she gets.

“Stop looking at the fucking horizon, Griffin, we’re here to drink.” Raven hooked an arm around her shoulders and made Clarke pick up her pace in order to keep up with her.

“You’re so needy deep down. Did you know you were this needy?”

“I’m not needy, but I’ve got my priorities straight. And that’s obviously alcohol.”

“Can’t really argue with that.” Bellamy says then, coming to walk on her other side. “Raven drinks like an old sailor.”

“Damn right.” The girl says, proudly. “And tonight, losers, we’re gonna get _smashed_.”

 Clarke groans at that and Bellamy chuckles.

“C’mon, princess. Maybe you can get drunk and tell me how _fit_ I am again.” He has a bashful smile on, looking almost tentative. It’s the first time he refers to that night objectively. Clarke smiles up at him teasingly and is honestly surprised to discover it’s genuine.

“My vision was messed up, you’re clearly not fit.”

“Liar.” Raven chirps besides her with a knowing grin and a pointed look to them both. She lets her arm drop from around Clarke and pushes her away – and therefore right into Bellamy, who replaces her with his arm slung over her shoulder without missing a beat.

“Don’t broadcast that, Raee.” Clarke scolds, but leans into him nonetheless. “Don’t listen to her, Bell, I’m one hundred percent honest. You’re the least fit bloke ever.”

“Your goal is to give me self-esteem issues, isn’t it?”

“Obviously.” They grin, easily, and Jasper and Monty look over their shoulders to make faces to them.

“You guys are disgusting.” Raven says and shakes her head.

“That’s ok.” Bellamy says once everyone’s attention drifts to some ridiculous chicken fight that happened during charms class the other day between Mahoney and Almasi, so he and Clarke are no longer under scrutiny. “I don’t mind you want to keep between us that you find me so fit.”

“I’m so glad you understand.” She deadpans. “Now can you quit repeating the word _fit_?”

“You can always count on me. That’s why I’m your favourite.”

“Everyone knows Raven is my favourite, Bellamy.” He lets out a grumpy sound and she laughs. “But you can be my second.”

“I’ll take what I can. For now.”

 They proceed to get roped into the gossiping their other friends are currently doing.

 

 

 When they order their drinks from Roma in the Three Broomsticks, she just gives them a sneering look as if asking if they really think she’ll believe they’re all legal, but Bellamy talks her into it, all lazy smiles and loose charm that Clarke never thought he’d be able to pull out. The bar keeper actually relents.

“Wow there, Casanova.” She comments after Roma put their drinks in front of them with a playful wink in his direction.

“You should have more faith in me.” He says smoothly, with a completely self-satisfied grin. “But you got points for referencing Casanova. Where did you see it?”

“And you say _I_ don’t have faith in _you_.” She scoffs. “Raven has Netflix. I know loads of muggle things now, because I’m brill. And muggle references are the best.”

 He turns to Raven.

“You manage to put up _Netflix_ in Hogwarts and the first thing you think of showing your pureblood royalty mate is Casanova? I thought you were a Marvel girl, Raven! Why didn’t you show her Jessica Jones or something?”

“What? Casanova is a classic and it has Donald Sutherland, what’s not to like?” She quirks her eyebrow, almost daring him to disagree, but Bellamy just barks out a laugh. “And if _I_ show her Jessica Jones, what’s left for you to show her, dumbass?”

“Kevin Burns documentaries, of course? The BBC version of Sherlock Holmes?”

“And you complain about Casanova.” Raven scoffs. “Shut up, Blake.”

 

 

 Hours later they discover that Monty can drink them all under the table, even Raven, who, as Bellamy said, drinks like an old sailor. He just smiles goofily when they comment on it and shares a look with Jasper.

“We started brewing drinks in my place last year.” Monty shrugs. “I have a space in the basement.”

“It’s called moonshine and it tastes like shit but it’ll get you drunk faster than you think it’s possible.” Jasper explains.

“Well, I drink to that.” Raven says, raising her glasses. “Bottoms up!”

 Clarke can feel everything around her getting hazy. She’s slightly past tipsy, but she’s also leaning on Bellamy’s chest and she’s so comfortable she thinks she could sleep there.

 It’s a good feeling, she decides, eyeing her mates guffawing around her, all of them careless and young. They’re all very obviously inebriated too. Well, all except for Monty, the alcohol machine, and Miller, who stopped drinking a while ago.

( _Someone’s going to have to haul your bloody arses back to the castle, innit?_ )

Clarke notices she can’t see their hands and hopes they’re holding them on under the tables. They all deserve to be happy.

 “What is it?” Bellamy asks and his breath puff over the shell of her ear. She can smell him, the woodsy smell of his skin and the lingering scent of the firewhiskey he downed earlier. Clarke could get used to that.

“Nothing, it’s just…” She gives a soft, clearly inebriated smile. “I’m glad.”

“That’s really all that matters, isn’t it?” He tightens his hold around her and Raven says something that gets his attention. Clarke watches them engage in conversation about History of Magic, for which Bellamy is a huge dork, and decides she will just enjoy her happy bubble for just a little bit longer.

 

 

**(Sixth year)**

 

 When Clarke gets to the Hogwarts Express, she heads straight to the prefects compartment.

 It’s uncanny, Clarke thinks, being a regular prefect again. She’s only sixteen and couldn’t possibly keep acting like Head Girl, she didn’t even _want_ it, without Bellamy there, but it’s still odd knowing she won’t be the one leading the meeting.

 A Ravenclaw girl called Anya is the new Head Girl, and she’s honestly a beautiful bird, but Clarke’s done fancying stoic-faced Head Girls.

 She also misses Bellamy like hell.

 Which is ridiculous, since they spent so much of the summer together.

 While Jake was incredibly overwhelmed with work in the Auror division – disappearances and attacks were growing ever more frequent and he was requested to take care of so many horrible things – and Abby never knew how to really stay away from her work at St. Mungo’s, Clarke had the Griffin Manor pretty much to herself. And she was _bored_.

 So visited Bellamy and Octavia in their tiny little cottage in a remote part of Muggle London as often as possible. Their house could use some new paint on the old walls and the furniture was well worn out, but it felt lived in and cozy and all the things Clarke’s state didn’t. They had both muggle pictures and magical ones scattered around, displaying him and Octavia and sometimes a dark-haired woman Clarke assumed was Aurora Blake with huge smiles and bright eyes.

 She absolutely loved it.

“I guess it’s not as nice as your place, but you’re always welcome.” Bellamy told her the first time she showed up there within fifteen minutes from receiving an owl from Octavia.

“Stop being stupid, Bell.” Octavia said with an eye roll and swiftly took Clarke by the hand to go outside.

 So she spent a lot of her time hanging out with O, basking in the sun with bikini tops and muggle jeans shorts when the weather was good, trying to tan but ending up pink instead, while Octavia’s skin turned a nice shade of gold.

 Sometimes she’d come to play videogames with them all night long or simply to read stuff with Bellamy in a nice, even sort of intimate silence. They never said she couldn’t come.

 Octavia, barely thirteen and exceedingly social, had mates in the neighborhood that Bellamy fretted too much over – _What if they figure out she’s a witch? What if muggle authorities think they can take her away from me?_ – and she was often out with the other preteens to play ball or get ice-creams. Octavia couldn’t understand how they could stay inside so much when it was summer outside.

 She came home one day to find them reading books, Bellamy’s about the founders of Hogwarts and Clarke’s about the great founders of the USA, comfortably settled on the couch, with Clarke’s legs thrown over Bellamy’s lap.

“God, you two are so _domestic_.” Octavia said with a grimace and Clarke just beamed at her.

“Yeah, we also like cleaning and gardening.”

“It really doesn’t look like you’re sixteen and eighteen, you know?”

“That’s what we’re aiming at.” Bellamy said, without taking his eyes from his book. “Hey, Clarke, does your lineage really come from bloody Godric Gryffindor?”

“Uh, yeah.” She looks almost shy about it. “It’s from my dad’s side. My grandfather didn’t like the feeling he was treated so much better because of his last name, so he just changed it to Griffin.” Clarke shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Which for her really mustn’t be, but Bellamy is still very much shell-shocked. “Like it made that much of a difference.”

“Wow, that’s cool.” Octavia said. Which turned out to be a big flattery because Octavia is thirteen and too cool for looking impressed.

“I _knew_ you were a princess!”

“You know Godric Gryffindor wasn’t really the king right?” She looked more endeared than amused. “Neither is my father.”

“The fuck he wasn’t!” Bellamy said then gave her a disapproving look. “What would he say if he knew his great great great granddaughter was in _Slytherin_?”

“Wizards do live longer than most muggles, Bellamy, but if my great ancestor was still around to say anything it’d probably be something along the lines of ‘Good fuck, I’m old’.” He looked at her entirely unimpressed.

“I can’t believe you’re making jokes on Grodric Gryffindor. Shame on you, Gryffindor.”

“My name’s still Griffin, Bellamy.”

“Nope, never gonna call you that again.”

 Sometimes Miller, Monty, Jasper and Raven went there with her and they grabbed beers and watched movies or played dumb card games.

 More often, though, when it was just the two of them (three, if Octavia was in a good mood), Clarke’d stay for dinner or maybe sleepover with Octavia.

 The first time Bellamy made them a meal, Clarke was sitting on the countertop of his kitchen while he whipped up some pasta with tomato sauce.

 She took an instant liking to watching him cook – it was relaxing. It didn’t hurt the temperatures were high, so one of those times he shrugged off his shirt. Clarke’s only human after all. He _was_ really fit.

(Thank Merling for Quidditch)

“You’re a good cook.” She said after the first bite.

“What did you expect?”

“That you survived on nothing but pizza and black coffee, honestly.” She says gleefully. “You seem like the type.”

“I have to feed Octavia too.”

“I thought she fed on calling you a prat.” Clarke said, drawing off a peel of laughter from the younger girl.

“Which he is.” Octavia was happy to supply. Bellamy gifts them with an unimpressed look, his trademark exasperated yet fond expression pulling at the corner of his lips. “But sometimes I need real food and Bell can do that too.”

 He smiles at that begrudgingly and kicks his sister’s foot lightly.

“I’ll file that for later.” Clarke says. “Maybe you have your uses, Blake.”

“I keep telling you. I’m definitely your favourite.”

 It was a good summer, truth be told.

 Would have been perfect, hadn’t she missed Wells so terribly.

 The summer residence of the Jahas was right next to her own and it was a hole in her life that ached whenever she walked by their gate.

 Whenever she was home, though, Raven was usually there too.

 Clarke discovered that the girl lives right next door to Finn, and neither him or her mother was Raven’s choice of company.

 It was a mutually beneficial arrangement – her company eased the empty feeling a bit. She always brought tons of muggle electronics to tinker with while Clarke painted and they shared stories at night while lying on their backs on the floor, looking at Clarke’s enchanted ceiling, where it was easier to talk.

 She’s dragged out from her reminiscences when the prefect’s meeting is over and Clarke realizes she hadn’t heard a word of it.

 Of course, she doesn’t really need to, she knows the drill by heart now.

 Finn, that waved at her somewhat awkwardly when she first entered the compartment, comes to her after the meeting ends and people start filtering out.

“Hey, Clarke.” As always, he has that easy smile on his face. Clarke’s not mad at him anymore, but she still feels a little cross as he comes close to her. “How was your summer?”

“Good. Yours?”

“It was fine too.” His smile is a bit more uncertain at her unfriendly tone and she feels a tad childish, but mostly satisfied. “Look, I thought maybe we could talk some time?”

“Seriously?” Clarke says, with an unimpressed look she’s sure came straight from all the time she spent with Bellamy. “You cheated on your long-term girlfriend with me. You didn’t even have the decency to come talk to me afterwards, and now you just –” She stops herself mid-speech and takes a deep breath. “No, Finn, I don’t want to talk to you.”

 He looks properly chastised now and scrunches his nose like he’s not sure what’s the best way to approach her. None is the obvious choice, but Finn doesn’t seem to figure it out as quickly as he should.

“I know, it was a pretty bad move, but… I liked you, you know. I still do, you’re awesome.”

“So is Raven.” She says, steely.

“I noticed you became mates.” Finn doesn’t sound surly about it and Clarke’s glad. If he did, she might have punched him muggle style. “And I did talk to her during the summer.”

“I know, she told me.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He gives her a tentative smile. “We’re really done now. Raven even said we might try to be friends again. So, honestly, Clarke, I just like you so much I –”

“Please don’t.” Clarke doesn’t sound mad anymore, but she sure as hell doesn’t want to have that conversation. “We really never had a chance, Finn.”

“Because of Bellamy?”

 Clarke actually wants to laugh out loud. For Merlin and Morgana’s sake, why do people keep insisting on that point?

“No, because you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend. Because you went out with me nonetheless.” Finn has lost puppy eyes and Clarke kind of feels bad for him, but she’s unyielding. “And, you know what, yeah. Maybe a bit because of Bellamy.”

“I hope he treats you right.” Finn finally settles with saying after a while. Clarke smiles at him and it’s genuine.

“Well, at least he doesn’t already have a girlfriend. It’s a start.”

 She turns on her heels and leaves to find her mates, they were waiting for her after all.

 

 

“Are you owling Bellamy again?” Raven asks in a tired voice, but her eyes have that sparkle that tells Clarke she’s just teasing.

“Nope.” She pops de ‘p’ at the end obnoxiously. “I’m actually owling that gorgeous bloke from Sense8, Max Riemelt. We’ve been talking for a while, he doesn’t even think it’s weird to do post by owl anymore. We have a good thing going on.”

 Raven just looks at her, dry.

“You think you’re so funny.”

“That’s because I am, right?” She gives Raven a bright smile that’s totally fake and pets Charlotte, letting her take the letter.

“I’m sorry I said you guys were going to bang.” Raven says and Clarke’s head snap up. “You’re so going to get married before you’re twenty, it’s ridiculous.”

“Raven, don’t you have a boy toy to tend to?”

“Nope.” Raven mimicks her with a teasing smirk. “That’s the best part of boy toys: I don’t need to tend to them at all, I’m just getting laid.”

“Yeah, ok, that’s a win-win situation.” They fist bump and Raven leads her out of the Owlery.

“You could tell him, you know?” Raven says, her face supporting a surprisingly earnest expression. “He’s crazy about you, you’d have to be blind not to see it. Maybe not even then.”

“You’re blowing this _way_ out of proportion.” Clarke deadpans. “Yes, I like Bellamy. He’s an excellent mate and I miss him loads, but… He’s training to be an Auror, Rae. He’s got more important things going on and I won’t be out of school for another two years. It’s the worst possible time ever to tell him I actually want to snog him.”

“Have you seen that boy? He looks at you like you’re the _sun_ , Clarke. There’s not soon enough for you two to get together already.”

 Clarke ducks her head to hide just how bright her grin is.

“See? Fucking dorks, both of you. Just go hit that, he’s really hot.”

“I know right?”

“Talk about win-win situations.”

 They laugh and Raven drops it. She knows by now there’s no convincing Clarke to do something she doesn’t want to do (even if it’s something she really, really wants to do but thinks she shouldn’t) and they head to class.

 

 

 Divination is sort of the best because it’s one of the few classes Clarke and Raven have together. They spend the entire time laughing and making up stupid stories out of tea leaves smudges to tease each other or trying to analyse dreams, coming up with embarrassing interpretations they like to read aloud when the quirky professor ask them about it.

 This day they’re just trying to see something inside a purplish crystal ball and Raven is sketching barfing stick figures on the margins of her parchment.

 Raven’s been using ballpoint pens since she moved from Ilvermony and Clarke adores them. They’re just so much better for sketching than regular feathers. These days she majorly uses her own feathers to keep her messy bun in place while writes and draws with Raven’s pens.

 Some people giver her dirty looks because of it, or whisper “blood traitor” when they think they’re in a safe enough distance, but Clarke couldn’t care less.

(Except she does care loads about the slur, so she docks points and glares people into submission)

 Clarke still gets regular letters from her worried mother, though, telling her she’s going to find some trouble if she keeps looking for it. Clarke just replies there’s nothing wrong with muggles, muggleborns or muggle inventions and sends her mother a package of pens for herself.

“You know, I’m really feeling something. Like, I think today I’ll be able to foresee the future.” Raven says after she’s done with her little doodle. “I’m seeing a party. Very nice party, indeed. And, oh look, there you are! You look pretty hot in a wedding gown, babe. And I’m obviously the bridesmaid.”

“Bugger off, Reyes.” Clarke says throwing her pen at Raven. “And I’m making O my bridesmaid after that.”

 

 

 For some time, things are calm. Or at least calm in the secluded bubble Clarke’s in.

 Yes, Clarke still has to deal with kids who seem to be happy to be Death Eaters in training, and there are great tragedies happening every day, but at least inside Hogwarts’ walls, she’s doing fine. She worries about Bellamy like a madwoman, even though they exchange a ridiculous amount of post and he informs her of everything he loves and hates about his Auror studies.

 He’s just as grumpy and sarcastic as always, but she can see he adores it.

 But nothing’s worse than the gnawing, biting, raw panic that froths inside her when he starts going out on actual _missions_. It’s the one thing she’s been doing forever, waiting, worrying, blind and panicky. It’s awful that she gets to feel this way about Bellamy now, but she manages to push it down.

 Clarke knows Bellamy was always meant to fight. He’s a protector.

 But when her world falls apart, she really wishes he was anything else.

 She knows something ominous have happened when Marcus comes to get her. Professor Kane’s been friends with her parents since before Clarke was born. She knows him so well the look in his eyes tells her everything.

 He takes her to the Headmaster’s office where Abby’s waiting, struggling to swallow the tears, hands white and shaking.

Clarke almost refuses to hear it when her mother starts out.

 After she does, she wishes she’d managed to flee earlier. Maybe not knowing would make it less true.

 Clarke doesn’t make a conscious decision of going to the Blake’s.

 She ends up in their fireplace before she even realizes where she is and the house is completely still, silent. Which is fine by her because she just hogs on the couch and let despair take over. The inconsolable sobs are loud and painful in Bellamy’s living room.

 Bellamy doesn’t come back for a few hours and when he finally arrives Clarke’s not bawling her eyes out anymore, she’s just sitting there, holding her knees with silent tear streaks in her cheeks. There’s no joy in seeing her under this circumstances, so he simply closes the distance between them silently and takes her in his arms, tight and warm, trying to soak on her pain so maybe she can feel less of it. It’s enough to spur new tears.

“You know, don’t you?”

“I heard at the Auror division, yes.”

“My mum told me no one knows where he is.” She croaks in a small voice and Bellamy squeezes her harder, managing to sit on the couch and drag her to his lap. “Do you know anything else? Have they told you anything else?” Clarke sniffles and swipes the tears away hard, trying to get herself under control.

“Not much, just that he was taken” Bellamy’s throat is so tight his voice comes out rougher than usual “during a Death Eater attack.”

 Her breath catches in her throat and she tries hard to swallow it. Abby told her, of course, but hearing it from Bellamy made it all the more real.

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“Clarke—“

“Do you think he’s _dead_?” She asks, her voice dry and furious.

“I think it’s probable.” Bellamy can’t lie to her, not now. She nods once and the heartbreak shines through her eyes.

 Bellamy can’t think of a time he felt worse, except for when his own mother had been murdered. It’s a crushing, he knows exactly what she’s feeling and it makes him so goddamn _furious_ he can’t do anything to protect her from it.

“He saved a lot of people, you know?” He pushes through to say the words even though his jaw is clenched so hard he almost thought it wouldn’t work. “There were kids there. That’s why he went first. The other Aurors took a while to arrive and he and David Miller just went in first and… They weren’t there when we showed up.”

 Clarke hides her face in his neck, breath shallow, and she thinks she might throw up, but she doesn’t want to dislodge from him.

 “Maybe he’s still alive, maybe he’ll survive.” He says.

 She manages a small smile against his skin and Bellamy can feel her lips moving.

“Yeah, maybe.”

 They both feel the hollowness of this words, though.

 Bellamy holds her well into the night, only leaving to grab some water and let her mother know he’s got her. Clarke falls asleep on top of him and Bellamy doesn’t even consider moving before he takes the sofa’s quilt and drops over them, staring the darkness with stone eyes and a set jaw.

 Three days later, the Prophet announces the Auror found the illustrious Head of Auror Jake Griffin’s body.

 

 

 All her mates are there to her father’s funeral.

 In actuality, there are quite a lot of people on her father’s funeral.

 It’s no surprise, really, her family is rich and old blood and her father was an important, respected member of the magical community, but she just wants to chase them away with the worst hexes she knows because it feels like they’re intruding on something _private_. At that moment, Clarke hates them.

 She and her mother stand closest to the coffin. Thankfully it’s closed because -- Clarke doesn’t think she can stomach seeing her father dead --, and waves of people come to them to give them their sentiment and say how much they cared about Jake.

 Clarke just let’s her mother squeeze her hand painfully tight and try to tune them out, focusing on Bellamy’s breath right beside her instead. He’s probably the one thing keeping her from making a scene. That and the fact that her mother would be hurt if she did, Abby seems to think this is a good thing, that so many people feel like they have to say goodbye to her husband.

 Marcus Kane is standing next to Abby and Clarke feels a little insulted by his presence because he’s not _family_. But then again, maybe he is to her mother what Bellamy is to her, a reassuring presence, so she doesn’t comment on it.

 In fact, she doesn’t speak at all during the services, even when her mother goes to give an eulogy to her father. Clarke just turns around and buries herself in Bellamy’s chest and cries.

 When it’s over, Abby thanks him for being there for her daughter and goes to tend to the guests as they head to the manor.

 Bellamy has never been to Clarke’s house and he thinks it’s definitely not the time to gawk at how bloody _huge_ it is, but he still can’t help the staring. Octavia, Raven, Monty, Jasper and Miller joins them and the only time she leaves Bellamy’s side is to embrace Miller in a full body hug. Clarke can feel Miller shaking a bit against her and she holds on to him to anchor the both of them.

 When she lets him go and Monty slides immediately to his side,  Clarke’s glad at least he has someone with him.

 Later, when everyone leaves, she brings Bellamy to her room and they lie on her bed curled into each other.

“Thanks.” She whispers an indefinite amount of time later. Clarke doesn’t even feel like the time is passing, it’s so surreal. It doesn’t feel like her real life.

“It’s ok.” He’s carding his fingers through her hair and the ministrations are calming enough to make her drowsy. Clarke suddenly realizes she’s exhausted. “Just sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Exactly.”

 And she really does sleep to hearing his heart beat.

 

 

 The rage doesn’t leave her.

 Bellamy spends three entire days with her before he has to go back to training and Clarke still has the rest of the week off for mourning.

 She’s restless and, without Bellamy there to whisper in her ear and sooth her pain as much as he can, she can feel anger bubbling something awful inside her, begging to be released. She just wants to do _something_.

“I want the Death Eaters dead. All of them.”

 He still comes at night most days. When she tells him this, Bellamy just looks at her, frowning and clearly worried.

 Abby spent an entire day in her bed without moving, closed curtains and stale air making her room stuffy. She only moved to let Clarke cuddle her a bit while they both fought off the urge to cry. Then she got up the next day and threw herself into work with the vigour of a mad woman, because that’s what Abby Griffin knows how to do.

 Clarke doesn’t get to see much more of her mother then, but she’s oddly numb about it. Maybe she’s even a little glad he doesn’t have to see Abby’s pain written all over her face – Clarke has been avoiding mirrors like the plague.

 She doesn’t know how many days goes on, it doesn’t really matter to her, but sometimes she takes off to Bellamy’s place because she can’t stand to look at her own home anymore without wanting to scream. That was one of those days.

 Clarke’s walking down the street when it happens.

 She knows Bellamy won’t be home for some time, but she’s willing wait. It’s not like she has a lot more to do anyway. Then she hears it, the deafening sound of an explosion and she barely has time to think ‘ _what the hell’_ before people in black cloaks and masks are flooding the place, wands at the ready, throwing unforgivables like it’s fucking confetti and she see’s red.

 Clarke is seventeen and awful clever. She knows the obvious right decision is to run to any place with a floo network and alert the Aurors that there is another attack going on, but she’s also furious and thirsty for revenge and they’re _right there_. Within her reach.

 People are running for their lives, more scared than she’s ever seen anyone, some of them are hit squarely with _Avada Kedavras_ and hit the ground immediately, unmoving. Some are being tortured and dismembered, hoarse screams and acrid charred flesh flood the air.

 It’s a muggle neighborhood, they don’t even stand a chance.

 Her wand is in her hands before she knows when she reached for it.

“Hullo, little girl.” Comes a venomous voice from behind one of the masks. She straightens her back and casts a spell before the man can say anything else. It’s a near hit and the man chuckles. “I know who you are, blood traitor.”

 Blood is running hot in her veins when she avoids answering by casting a string of hexes. They hit the mark and the man falls to the ground, but is replaced right away for two more masked figures and from then on she can’t really think about anything other than the duel.

 Clarke gasps out when a curse hits her between the shoulder blades and cuts her body in uncountable places, making blood soak her clothes through. The metallic, rusty smell makes her head spin and her vision swims for a second.

 She manages to defend herself with a clear _expelliarmus_ and a full-body bind that hits her target, but she’s hit on the back again and pain curses throughout her body like it’s electricity. Clarke knows she’s screaming although she doesn’t really hear it herself and something else must hit her because she’s out like a light.

 

 

 Clarke wakes up to her head pounding and soreness everywhere.

 It takes her a few seconds blinking blearily to start seeing straight.

“Oh, good.” A woman’s voice creeps in her direction with a sneer. “You’re awake.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Clarke sits upright immediately, despite her body’s complaints. “Where am I?”

 Clarke looks around; it appears to be some sort of warehouse. There are tons of scraps and mismatches metal pieces around her and the air smells like rust. She has absolutely no idea where the hell it takes place, but Clarke can bet it’s nowhere near downtown London.

 This is bad.

She’s alone and on a chair, but she isn’t tied down, so at least there’s that.

 Clarke fondled herself as discreetly as she could. Of course her wand was nowhere to be found.

 This is definitely bad.

“Calm down.” A masculine voice echoes in the big space of the warehouse as a man walks in. Clarke never really saw Lord Wallace and no pictures of him were published on the papers or anything, but she’s immediately sure it’s him. His voice is ice cold and sibilant, the kind that sends shivers down her spine and kicks her body into super alert mode. “Who would have thought I’d get Clarke Griffin so easily? And just after killing your father, too.”

 Clarke expected fury to boil her blood once again, like it did when she saw them on that narrow muggle street, but she’s surprisingly in control.

 Her head is clear despite the pain and the hatred she feels doesn’t overcome her, which is good. She stares at him openly, steeling her eyes and locking her jaw in a stance that shows no fear whatsoever.

“Do you want a trophy for kidnapping a teenage girl?” She asks, raising one eyebrow. Clarke had forgotten to pay attention to the woman in the room, but she certainly does once she hits her with a painful stinging hex.

“Don’t you dare to talk to the lord like that you filthy blood—” Lord Wallace holds a hand out and she both silences and lowers her wand. Clarke’s breath is coming in short puffs, but she smiles amusedly.

“Like a well-trained dog.”

 Lord Wallace lets out a laughter that is probably the hollowest sound Clarke has ever heard.

“Brave girl. No surprises there, you’re from highly prized lineage. It’s such a shame your father was on the wrong side of this revolution.” Lord Wallace says like he’s actually sorry about it. Clarke narrows her eyes and it’s half surprising he doesn’t just drop dead from the sheer force of her glare.

 Instead, he approaches.

 The man isn’t particularly tall or built and is dressed in an obviously expensive black cloak, but the energy that radiates off him is dark and cruel. She notices there’s a thin, irregular scar over his lip and wants to punch it so bad.

“I wonder if you could be persuaded to support us. Your mother doesn’t seem as much of a mudblood activist, she strikes me as a sensible woman, and with your disgraced father gone…”

 Clarke manages to resist the urge to punch him, on the scar or elsewhere.

 But she can’t quite resist the urge to spit in his face.

 Lord Wallace closes his eyes and his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back away or say anything. The woman behind him is practically snarling and Clarke’s actually impressed she can refrain from doing anything. He wipes his face off and opens his eyes, blue orbs piercing through hers like he’s a disappointed mentor.

“I’ll take it as a no, then.” He straightens his back. “I’ll use you as a message, little princess.”

“Don’t you _ever_ call me princess, you –” She can’t finish her speech, though, because Lord Wallace signals the woman behind him. The Death Eater opens a toothy, insane-looking smile, screeches “ _Crucio_!” and sets Clarke’s whole world on fire.

 Clarke’s not aware of her screams or the trashing of her body against the hard chair, all she can feel is that overwhelming pain that seems intent on tearing her apart, seems ingrained in her very atoms.

 When it’s over, Clarke’s sure it only lasted for a few minutes, but it felt like a fucking lifetime.

“That’s all you’ve got?” She can’t decide if she should congratulate or kick herself, but her lips curl into a sharkish sneer regardless. If Clarke’s going to die, at least she’ll make sure Cage Wallace won’t have the satisfaction of seeing her beg for her life.

 He stands a few feet away, assessing her with the curiosity of a scientist doing research.

“If you change your mind and decide to join us, we’ll stop.” Lord Wallace says. “But I’m curious to see how much you can stand before you break. Do it again.” He orders and the screeching woman is happy to oblige.

 Clarke really tries to bite her screams, but even though she draws blood from her lips, it’s of no use. The pain is just intense enough to make her forget about everything else.

 They stop again and Clarke’s breath is laboured and shallow, every inhale painful, every exhale driving her nearer to wishing it was the last one.

“Leave her.” Lord Wallace says and grants her a cruel smile. “Let her starve a bit.”

 They leave and Clarke’s alone. She’s not tied up, but her body doesn’t follow her commands so she can’t stand up and try to run or at least hide. She’s able to keep her conscience for maybe fifteen minutes before she just passes out to a dreamless slumber.

 

 

 Clarke’s jostled awake when Lord Wallace and the same Death Eater return.

“Are you feeling well-rested?” He asks, in a complacent voice. “Maybe the time off gave you some perspective.”

 She wants to spit in his face all over again.

 But Clarke knows she can’t keep going for much longer. Her body was already in a ghastly condition from the injuries she suffered at the attack, her force of will alone won’t be enough to keep her alive.

 Moreover, Jake Griffin just died, Clarke can’t do that to her own mother. Even a strong, self-reliant woman like Abby won’t do well with a blow like that. Clarke has to find a way out.

“Cage.” She tries to school her features and ignore how raspy her voice is. Clarke needs a plan, and she needs it _right now._ Her eyes darts all over him as he comes closer, his gait haughty like he knows he’s winning, the wand loosely held in his fingers in a unpreoccupied way, trying to find an opening.

“You’re really pretty, even battered up the way you are.” Lord Wallace says again, leaning towards her to put a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Clarke manages not to wince as his skin brushes her cheek. “You’d look good by my side. I could make you really powerful. You’d have anything you wanted.” When that doesn’t do it, he adds. “Your mother could be safe.”

 Clarke suddenly looks tempted and vulnerable. Her cold, enduring stance finally falters, and Lord Wallace smirks.

“You can protect her, Clarke.” He presses on. “It’s in your hands. If you’re with me, no one will dare lay a finger on her.”

“She’d be—“ her voice cracks. “Her life would go back to normal?”

“Better than normal.” The hand in her hair drops to cup her face.

“I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Clarke whispers in a soft voice. Then, she contracts all her muscles and throws the strongest punch she can manage in Lord Wallace’s unguarded throat. “Except for you, of course.” She snatches his wand swiftly and kicks him away from her as he gasps.

“ _NO!_ ” The other woman cries and Clarke aims an explosive curse at her – thanking every single deity she knows of that Raven likes to spend her spare time trying to recreate bombs with magic – and the whole construction shakes with the blow.

 It doesn’t hit the Death Eater directly, but Clarke can see her arm is badly burnt when she aims her wand towards the ceiling and shouts, presumably conjuring the dark mark in the sky above them.

 The explosion set the warehouse on fire, though, and the flames lick the walls in a fast pace.

 Clarke’s able to get out of the chair and run before she hears the first tell-tale crack of apparition. She takes off towards the biggest scrap pile so she can take refuge, trying to come up with a strategy to protect herself.

 No one knows how many Death Eaters there are, but with the dark mark up and bright, Clarke’s sure the Aurors squad is sure to follow right after. She just has to keep herself alive until they arrive.

 That alone is honestly no small task.

 There are Death Eaters apparating left and right. Lord Wallace is up again, trying to bellow orders and positively _seething,_ his voice a scratchy mockery of his usual tone.

 He reaches up to the burnt Death Eater, taking Clarke’s wand out of her hands and the sight of his hand around her wand makes her heart lurch inside her chest.

 It’s _her_ wand and Clarke doesn’t give a shit if she stole his first, he has no right to touch it.

“You’re going to pay for this, Clarke! I’m going after every single person you love and they are all going to die because of you.” He screams and she presses herself against the metal junk behind her, taking a deep breath.

 Clarke’s entire body ache, but she can’t give up. Not just yet.

“You can’t even keep your wand.” She shouts back, with a caustic laughter. “I’m going to take you down, Cage.”

“Kid,” he says in a patronizing tone, “you have no idea what’s coming for you.”

 His voice is closer now and Clarke knows he has at least a dozen Death Eaters right behind him, but she needs to do something.

 And she needs her bloody wand.

 So Clarke tries to hear as hard as she can as to determine his position and makes a jump for it. She’s throwing curses and hexes at the closest Death Eaters, efficiently knocking them out and dodging a couple of hexes herself, but she’s hit in the stomach before she can scream “ _Expelliarmus!”_ and take her wand back.

 Clarke falls to her knees and for a brief second she thinks this is it, there’s no way out as Lord Wallace’s own wand flies out of her hands to his waiting fingers.

 Clarke can feel fresh blood sipping out, pooling in her midriff, moisturizing the dry blood already crusting her skin.

 Hopelessness is almost taking over when a loud cracking sound reaches her ears and the first Auror appear, others following suit.

 Someone helps her to her feet and cast a healing spell in her stomach wound before having to shift their attention to the closest menace. It doesn’t heal it completely, but it stops bleeding and the pain dulls a little.

  Everything is hectic after that. Clarke scrambles to her feet and takes a wand from an unconscious Death Eater and falls into battle as more and more pops and cracks resound in the now completely ablaze warehouse.

 There’s no time for revering in the feeling maybe she’ll survive, there’s only time to defend herself and attack, because there’s one thing Clarke’s sure: There’s no way in hell she’s allowing Cage Wallace to touch anyone else she loves.

 When, at last, Clarke trips out of the warehouse, exhaustion weighting all her limbs and almost causing her to fall on her face, the sight of Bellamy is the only thing she can actually focus on.

 Her head is pounding, the air is heavy with smoke and there’s soot coming up her nostrils and Clarke feels like finally breaking down and crying like she didn’t allow herself before, and that’s when she sees him.

 Most of the surviving Death Eaters had fled, and so had Cage Wallace, but there are a lot of bodies burning in the warehouse she just got out off, both Aurors and Death Eaters.

 Bellamy’s battered and bloody, there’s a nasty cut on his right cheek and his right arm is covered with thick, red, dripping blood, but he’s still the best thing Clarke’s ever seen.

 He also looks completely desperate.

 Later, Clarke will truly wonder from where she took strength to run to him full speed, not stopping until her body collapsed against his. She’s just very lucky he’s that much bigger than her or they’d have both ended up sprawled on the floor.

 There was a long moment where all she could concentrate in was the feeling of his shirt against her skin and the smell of him – singed, sweaty, but undeniably Bellamy – and she pressed her face against his shoulder, pressing her eyes shut tight. Then it seemed like he finally took a long, shuddering breath, and his arms wrapped around her.

 Bellamy held her with such certainty and desperation, like he was never letting her get out again, that she decided she wouldn’t mind in the least if that was the case.

“Clarke.” He whispers her name as if trying it, tasting it, and something inside her hurts because she honestly _gets it_.

“Bellamy.”

 Apparently out of nowhere, there’s suddenly a lot of people around her – the Auror team, she realizes somewhat dazedly - and she’s forced to disengage from Bellamy’s arms even though she doesn’t want to. It’s brief, though, because he’s there again in no time, solid beneath her and holding her like a lifeline.

 Clarke’s dizzy and everything seems blurred around the edges, but she’s still feeling relieved to the bloody core. Bellamy is there, alive and so is she.

 She closes a fist in his shirt trying to regain her wits, but she’s not strong enough and everything goes black.

 

 

 When Clarke wakes up is in a very familiar place: St. Mungo’s.

 The relief that washes through her is the most powerful thing she’s ever felt when she turns to the right and her mother is sleeping in a crappy hospital chair and beside her, Bellamy is reading a book.

 He has actual _glasses_ on. Clarke didn’t know she had a thing for glasses, but the way her heart swells and her mouth goes dry when she looks at him is a powerful indicator.

“Hi.” He almost jumps out of his chair and comes to stand beside her in a heartbeat. Clarke giggles a little, but it mostly makes her body hurt, so she ends up groaning instead.

“How are you feeling? Did they patch you up alright? I mean, they must have, your mother is the Head Doctor but – _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Clarke!” Bellamy says everything so fast his words are barely intelligible and Clarke gives him a soft smile, feeling warm, and takes his hand.

“Calm down, mother hen.” She says. “I’m sore and I’ll be pretty surprised if I didn’t end up with a new scar or two, but I think I’m fine. And scars look badass anyway.”

“You nearly –“ He cuts himself.

“Clarke?” Abby asks, groggily, standing up herself. Clarke smiles, the sight of her mother alive and well soothing internal wounds much worse than any of her outer injuries.

“Hi, mum.” She says, soft. “How long was I out?”

“Two days.” Bellamy replies gruffly and it sounds vaguely like an accusation.

“Bellamy’s been here the whole time.” Abby informs her. “Please never get sick again, he was driving the entire staff insane.” And then her mother sobers a little. “But seriously, Clarke, after you’re all better, we’re going to have a real talk about what happened.”

“You know what happened. Death eaters happened. Cage bloody Wallace happened.” Both her mother and Bellamy wince and Clarke feels bashful for her rude tone, so she tries to amend it by saying softly. “But yeah, we’ll talk about it. Later.”

 Abby nods once and allows herself to smile.

“I’m really glad you’re safe, love. I was so worried.” Clarke lets go of Bellamy’s hand to pet Abby’s arm.

“I know. I was worried about you too.” Abby looks like she’s getting tearful and if there’s something she hates it’s openly emotional moments, so she just compose herself and says:

“Well, I’ve been here so long I think it’s time to check on my other patients. I’ll come back to see you later, honey.” She turns to Bellamy. “You should go home for a bit too, but drop by my assistant before you go. You really need to have that arm taken care of.” Abby’s practical, like with everyone else, but there’s fondness in her voice. Abby _likes_ Bellamy. It’s a good feeling for Clarke, so she grins.

 Bellamy, who kept to himself while allowed them to have a moment, agrees begrudgingly, so Abby leaves.

“What?” Bellamy asks when they’re alone and Clarke tells him. Bellamy’s not as much offended as he is amused. “What, did you thought your mother would hate me?”

“I know it doesn’t look like it now, but my mum can be an arsehole.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. She was an arsehole for the better part of the first two days while you were gone. But I won her over. I’m charming like that.”

“Just when you want to.” She points out accusingly.

“Well, I can’t let _everyone_ know I’m a dick, right?” He smiles at her and she laughs. It still hurts, but it’s the gratifying kind of pain. “Is this a really, really bad time to tell you I’m in love with you?”

“Nope. Not at all.” She beams at him and Bellamy chuckles. “In fact, you can keep on repeating it in every single situation ever.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” He lowers himself and nuzzle her nose with his. “You’re still not getting out of a very stern talk about how you ended up in a bloody warehouse with Lord Wallace. I heard you got in a _fight_ with the Death Eaters. _Voluntarialy_.”

“Bellamy.” She says, going for stern. “Shut up and kiss me already. We can talk as much as you like later.”

 And he does exactly that, finally pressing his lips against hers.

 

 

 The next few days are very busy in Clarke’s life.

 When she isn’t sleeping – and she’s sleeping _a lot_ -, there are doctors checking up on her, making her drink potions, running tests to check for permanent traumas, and all of her mates come to visit.

 Raven promises she’ll both punch Clarke for making her worry when she’s healthy again and give her a fucking gift for spitting in Lord Wallace’s face, but she doesn’t seem very disturbed at being both mad and proud at the same time, so Clarke figures that’s probably a very common Raven-emotion.

 Jasper, Monty and Miller come together and bring gifts and candy that Clarke assumes were Jasper or Monty’s idea, but then Monty tells her in a stage-whispers that it was all arranged by Miller. Miller actually _blushes_ and push his beanie down for something to do with their hands. It’s adorable.

 Octavia comes with Bellamy and stays the most of all of them. She actually cries when she hugs Clarke for the first time she sees her and tells her she loves her, to which Clarke responds with:

“I love you too, O, but your brother said it first.” And Octavia laughs and just says it’s good Bellamy finally decided to stop being pathetic, but if Clarke ever wants to dump his arse, Octavia’s her girl.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 Clarke has to repeat her story of what happened in the warehouse a thousand times – to the officers of the Ministry who come to interview her, to her mother and Bellamy, to all her mates and is just saved from having to tell it to the most unashamed members of the staff because Bellamy literally glowers at them.

 She goes home, but is still on bedrest for a fortnight.

 Ms. Byrne, leader of the Auror team that rescued Clarke, visits and returns her wand to her. One of the Aurors managed to retrieve it, but he died in battle. Clarke blinks the tears away, chest tightening at the thought she’ll never be able to say thanks.

 Then the other woman leaves and Bellamy hovers like the mother-hen she accused him of being, so much Abby isn’t even as concerned and hovering as she would normally be.

 Clarke thinks it’s a win because when Bellamy gets really out of control, she can tug him down and shove her tongue inside his mouth until he’s all mellowed and pliable and it’s the actual best.

 But then, one night, Abby brings up something Clarke has been putting off talking for days during dinner:

“Love, I know it’s been a terrible experience, but you’ve been doing good. Have you thought about when you’re going back to Hogwarts?”

“Yes.” Clarke answers carefully. She’s essentially thankful her mother brought it up when Bellamy isn’t there because this isn’t going to be an easy conversation to have with any of them. “I’ve decided I’m not going back, to be honest.”

“ _What?_ ” Abby’s dumbfounded, Clarke’s answer was honestly nothing she was expecting. “You can’t be serious, honey, your education is very important and—”

“Not as important as the war happening.” She says matter-of-factly and she can see Abby’s shiver.

“You’re not fighting this war, Clarke. You can’t even get into the Auror program without finishing school.” Abby reverted to her cool, no-nonsense tone.

“I’m not thinking about the Aurors. I’m thinking about something more along the lines of a resistance army.”

“This is ridiculous.” Abby’s shaking her head. “You’re just a kid! And the Aurors are working very hard –“

“The Aurors aren’t enough.” Clarke states clearly. She knew this was going to be hard. “And I’ve stopped being a kid the day my dad died.” Her mother blanched visibly after that.

 There’s a terse silence where both are just pushing the food in their plates without actually eating any of it and Clarke says:

“I’m legally an adult. You can’t stop me.” It takes Abby some minutes to respond.

“That may be the case, but I won’t be around to watch it.”

 

 

 Clarke shows up at Bellamy’s doorstep a couple days later with her trunk levitating behind her.

“What’s happening?” He says quirking one eyebrow.

“I’m moving in.”

“Huh, not that I’m not happy you want to move in with me, but what the fuck, Clarke?”

“My mother all but kicked me out and I need a place to stay.”

“Abby wouldn’t do that.”

“She doesn’t approve some of my… recent choices. I had to leave. Will you let me stay with you?”

“Of course I will, don’t be stupid.” He takes his own wand out and sends her trunk to his room while Clarke settles on the couch. It’s not like she isn’t familiar with his place. “I’m really going to hate this conversation, aren’t I?”

“Maybe at first.” She smiles, amused and a little anxious. “But I think you’ll see reason with it, eventually. Actually, I don’t think my plan is going to work at all without you.”

 When she lays out her plan to him, Bellamy fusses and kicks like she was expecting him to, but she came prepared. Clarke knows Bellamy, she knows how much he hates Lord Wallace and the Death Eaters, she knows that Bellamy wants to just _do something_ just as much as she does. And, truth be told, Clarke is _relentless_.

 In the end, Bellamy just runs his fingers through his hair, tugging it a bit in exasperation, but Clarke can’t see she’s won. Her heart in beating so fast inside her chest she wonders if he can hear it.

“Ok, it’s a good plan.” He concedes. “My only objection with it it’s _you_ in it. I can’t go through all that again, Clarke.” Bellamy so rarely admits his own vulnerability that, at the times he does, Clarke just wants to hold him and sooth him and promise nothing will ever hurt him again. So she climbs on his lap and snakes her arms around his neck, her fingers instinctively finding his hair.

“You won’t. We’ll be together and if I ever happen to punch Wallace again you’ll be right there to watch it.” He chuckles and his arms come to rest around her.

“You’re a menace, did you know that?”

“Yes and so did you.”

 He just holds her for a while and then lets out a sigh.

“Ok, I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Not a chance.” She nods.

“Ok, then.” He seems to weight his options for a bit and Clarke puts a little distance between them so she can watch his face with an inquisitive stare. “I’ve had… Well, I actually came to the same conclusion as you did. You know, in the day we found the warehouse. I was doing some bloody _stupid_ , bureaucratic work when I heard about the mark and the fire and that they suspected that was where you were taken and I was so angry. Aurors have way too much on their hands.” Bellamy finally meets her eyes. “So I’ve talked to some people. People who want to fight but hate the Ministry’s bureaucracy, other Aurors who want to do more. It was not as detailed as your plan, but I was thinking about basically same thing with the resistance army.”

 Clarke’s smile lights up her face like she’s burning inside out.

“See? I knew I had to have you in it.” Bellamy scoffs.

“You’re just using me because you want to stay at my place.” Clarke glares at him and Bellamy gives her a quick kiss. “And because I’m your favourite.”

 Her smile turns soft and her eyes, fond.

“Yeah, you’re my absolute favourite.”

 

 

 At first, it was really fucking hard.

 They had _so much_ to do, loads of people to talk to and try to keep it all a secret for as long as possible, otherwise they’d all be in danger. But slowly, things started falling into place and their plan began to work. It became more complex, more thorough.

 Clarke and Bellamy worked so hard, most days they just got home and collapsed on the bed, sometimes scarred and hurt, sometimes simply too exhausted to do anything but curl into each other and sleep.

 The day Octavia found out – because she’s Octavia and she smells secrets like a bloodhound – they receive a howler about how unfair it is that they’re doing all that while she’s locked up in a bloody castle-prison and how did Bellamy even _dared_ not telling her. They go meet her at Hogwarts to appease her as much as possible, but she’s still very angry when they leave, but Bellamy’s resolute. There’s no way he’s letting his fifteen year old baby sister into warzone.

 Weeks bleed into months, and months turn into years and their army grows.

 They have very specific training aligned and a backup buddy system and they have a strategy team that try to predict where the next attack is going to happen before it does so they’re always ready.

 Clarke and Raven turned out to be scarily good at strategy.

 Raven also worked in creating curses that had large radius effect so the fighters could cause maximum damage with some bloke named Kyle Wick.

 Abby still doesn’t talk to Clarke apart from a few letters that are short and far between, but she’s accepted it enough to treat all their wounded without much questioning.

 Clarke’s proud of what she and Bellamy are building, of the work they’re doing and she’s so relieved she’s actually able to make sure her mother stays protected.

 They have a problem when Octavia turns seventeen and, being the rebellious hurricane she is, drops out of Hogwarts of her own accord. Bellamy almost loses his shit.

“You know you can’t stop her, Bell.” Clarke tries to reason with him, but he just scowls in her general direction, still pacing back and forth.

“She’s bloody _seventeen_. That’s not nearly old enough to be in a war!”

“You know I was precisely seventeen when we started this, right?”

“Yeah, and I hated it back then as well.” He says, dry, but he settles a bit. “It’s just… It’s O.”

“I know.” Clarke says, scooting over. “She’s your sister and you’ve always done everything for her. But she’s also a person, Bell, and she’s old enough to make her own choices.”

 Bellamy doesn’t look convinced and Clarke knows it will be a thousand times worse if he just attacks Octavia head on instead of talking – because, really, Bellamy’s a lot better recently and he’s a great leader, but yelling at people has always been his thing.

“Maybe we can find a position for her in strategy. She won’t be out in the field, but she’ll be doing one of the most important works.” This seems to ease a little of the tension in his shoulders and Clarke lets out a breath. “We’ll make it work, ok?”

 He lets out a sulky, noncommittal groan, but Clarke knows it means he’ll try. It’s honestly the most she can ask of him.

 Of course, it’s a lie. Octavia enrols in their combat training practically as soon as she joins them and goes out to the actual battlefield a few months later because she’s exceedingly good at it.

 She comes home one day with an ugly cut in her temple and a fractured arm and Clarke hurries to fix her while Bellamy freaks out.

 He holds on until Clarke’s done with healing spells and potions, but really just until after that.

“See?” Bellamy all but shouts. “You got hurt!”

“Bell, this is nothing! You come home with wounds at least twice as bad all the time. Don’t you remember that day with Clarke in the warehouse? She survived that, didn’t she? I think I can handle a cut or two.” Octavia knows she went too far, that it’s a low blow, but she’s tired of having the same argument. Honestly, all her injuries were superficial and Bellamy’s been driving her barmy. Still, she does feel bad when shock etches in his expression before it darkens to the ugliest glare he ever sent her.

“Don’t you _ever_ say I don’t remember that day. I remember _everything_ about that day.” His voice is an octave lower and rough, the kind of threatening that would chill her to the bone was it not her brother.

“I know, I’m sorry. That was low.” She admits. “I just don’t want to keep having to fight you, Bellamy. I want to do something, just like you and Clarke did, and I’m good at it! You know I am.”

 The frown in his face persists and guilt weights on the pitch of Octavia’s stomach. She knows it’s Bellamy’s way of showing his hurt.

“Would you rather I did that without you? You’ve _made_ it, Bell, you know this resistance is the best place to fight. All I want to do is help.” His shoulders slump and his glare became half-hearted.

“You’re too young to do this, O.”

“Clarke was the same age I am when you stared it.”

“She already used that one. And I didn’t like it any better then.” He finally sighs in defeat and Octavia offers him a tentative smile.

“Sure you didn’t, especially the part where she moved in with you.” Octavia pokes him on the side and Bellamy looked entirely unimpressed.

“You’re still a brat.”

 

 

 There were three more years of war before they killed Cage Wallace and most of the surviving Death Ears went into hiding.

 In the end – to no one’s surprise – his death came by Clarke Griffin’s hands. With a charmed magnum 45 instead of a wand.

 After years of research, Raven and Monty managed to create a spell to make muggle bullets penetrate through every magical shield there was.

 It was a massacre.

 Every single Death Eater present that night fell, including their leader, and no one in the resistance was even hurt.

 

 

 Clarke still has nightmares and a horrible guilt about shooting so many people who couldn’t fight back, but those were dampened feelings in face of the times of peace. She did what she had to do and, when she doubts herself, there’s always Bellamy’s hand in her waist, on her face, squeezing her own hands, reassuring her they protected so many innocents.

 He actually got the Daily Prophet’s cover with a picture of them together captioned ‘LEADERS OF THE RESISTANCE TAKE DOWN THE WORLD’S BIGGEST THREAT’ framed and hung in their living room. A tangible reminder.

 

 

 Octavia got engaged to one of the Aurors that migrated to their army and became her partner in the buddy system and Bellamy likes to grumble about how _old_ he is all the time – _He’s even older than me, Clarke! Lincoln’s way too old for her!_ -, but it’s mostly good-natured.

  Bellamy can’t help showing how happy he is his sister is alive and happy and no longer the object of the same hideous war that deprived them of their mother.

 It’s adorable.

 Even Octavia knows his complaints about her fiancée are a scam. Bellamy is a softie, he actually likes Lincoln.

“So, fearless leaders.” Raven starts, throwing herself comfortably in their couch because she’s been around so much she has her own private spot. “What are you going to do now that you don’t have a rebellion to lead? Aside from getting married, of course.”

 And they were. Getting married, that is. Of course Raven has been teasing them about it for years – her and really everyone else in their team, they were that obvious -, but now Clarke really has a diamond ring in her finger as actual proof of their engagement.

“Have sex all the time to compensate all the nights we were too exhausted to do more than exist?” Bellamy suggests with a sly smirk and he and Raven clink butterbeers.

“Ok, but do that until you’re married. Everyone knows married people don’t have sex.” Bellamy nods solemnly and Clarke can’t help but laugh.

“That’s why you and Gina are skipping the whole marriage part and jumping straight to living together?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Raven smirks, but there is a certain softness to her. “That and it’ll be easier to hide my body when I finally annoy her enough to murder me. We’ll have a backyard for that.”

“Oh. Convenient.” Clarke says.

 It’s been way too long since they could really let themselves relax and have fun with each other, they were all so busy with work and pain and murder. Bellamy links hands with Clarke and she gives him her best smile, so glad it’s finally over.

“Actually” she starts, tentatively “I’ve been thinking about becoming an arts teacher to small kids. In a muggle school. I could go to college or something.” She worries her lip between her teeth, a bit nervous they’d tell her it isn’t good enough.

 She’s a witch, for Morgana’s sake.

 But she really loves doing art and she adores kids and, honestly, Clarke’s had enough of adrenaline to last the rest of her life.

“I think it’s great.” Bellamy says, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah. I mean, I’d be terrorized if you were my teacher, Griffin, but your students probably won’t know how scary you can be so – go for it!”

 Clarke laughs and take a sip of her own butterbeer. They keep on chatting for a while and play a few rounds of Mario Party for old times’ sake and when Raven leaves, Bellamy comes to wrap his arms around her middle from behind.

“You’ll be an amazing professor. And all the kids are going to fancy you.”

“Such a shame I’ll be married by then. I could really see some four-year-old charm working. I still can be the cool professor who lets them paint with their fingers, though.”

“Yes, married professor. Your future spells boring, Princess.” Clarke smiles softly and rests her head against his chest. Bellamy’s lips brush over her ear and goosebumps erupt in her skin. “Maybe you could write Abby a letter telling her about it. And inviting her to our wedding, of course.”

 Clarke sighs.

“I really should do that, shouldn’t I?” Her tone is miserable and Bellamy chuckles. The movement of his chest resonates through her in the most pleasing way.

“You should. The war is over, you can give each other a chance now. She loves you.”

“I know.” Clarke turns around in his arms to look him in the eyes. “When did you become that much wiser than me?”

“I always was.” Clarke swats at his chest and Bellamy laughs.

“I should have broken up with you ages ago. You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best and you know it. I’m your favourite, remember?”

“Yeah, it sucks to be me.” Clarke noses his throat and place an open mouth kiss to that spot just under his ear that makes him shiver. “I really love you.”

 Bellamy smiles at her and leans down to kiss her. He slants his lips over hers -- slow, deep, long and possessive --, and it’s true. Clarke really, really does love this idiotic bloke with unkempt hair that punched her team’s Quiddich captain the first time she saw him.

 Maybe Gryffindor is not that bad.

 

**THE FUCKING END JESUS THAT WAS GIGANTIC**

**Author's Note:**

> If you love the 100 or the Marauders or both, come fangirl with me on [ tumblr ](%E2%80%9Dpepperish.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D).


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